Darkness
by mufasasimba
Summary: After the dark days, the Capitol has finally decided on the punishment for it's districts. Kailaini, a citizen from district 4, watches the story unravel in horror, until she is sucked into the Hunger Games, and the bloodlust that goes with it.
1. Chapter 1

The sun's just setting as the television flickers to life. My family's shocked—we haven't had electricity since the day the Capitol told us the war was officially over. Of course, my mother didn't think it was really "over". They still had to deal with us.

The seal of Panem glows bright on the black background as the anthem pierces the silence. Jindra Macer, the longtime news caster comes on the screen, looking as perfect as ever. The Capitol shines behind her through the ceiling high windows in the studio.

"Good evening, People of Panem," she says in her ice cold voice. "Tonight, President Rivera will address you all. First however, an update on the aftermath." What a good word for this. Aftermath. Thousands die, building burned, morals forgotten, all summed up into one word. _Aftermath._

Jindra readjusts herself in her chair as she introduces an analyst. Efren Peck, the war director, is shown, sitting in a brightly colored library. After exchanging niceties, Jindra gets down to business.

"Tell us, Director, what toll the war had on Panem." Peck's an ugly man, thin mouthed, with flabby cheeks and trout-like eyes. There's complete silence on set and here as he considers his words.

"The…toll, as you call it, is high. We have lost…quite a few men, women and children. Thousands." Peck lets the words settle deep into the hearts of all those watching. We knew the number dead here was astronomical, but had no idea about the rest of Panem. My mother sobs, and Khalia, the poor little beast I call a sister, burrows under the couch. I thought thousands were bad until the next words roll out of Peck's mouth.

"We have…eliminated…Thirteen." 13 what? I consider. The mayors of each district? Rebel leaders? Then it hits me as the pictures come on screen. A ruined city, a smoking Justice Building. Broken houses, singed trees. That is all that's left of District 13. Just as I begin to wonder, Peck answers my question. "None…survived."

Jindra doesn't seem surprised by the photos- either she was told previously, or she's as cold as I always suspected- so she already has a question ready. "The people of Panem are wondering- why?" Peck examines the reporter for a full minute before responding this time.

"They, in 13, threatened…all…the people of Panem. It was…regrettable…but we have stopped the people from hurting…themselves." Jindra nods in agreement, no emotion in her eyes.

"Thank you, Director. And now we hand it over to President Rivera in Capitol Center." The television blacks out for a second, then President Rivera appears on screen. From what I can see of the Capitol and its citizens, it looks as though there was no war to begin with. The battles never actually reached the streets of the Capitol, but I expected the people to look at least a little worse for wear. Cameramen zoom in on the front steps of the President's mansion, which has stood for nearly 500 years. The heavy mahogany doors open, aided by peacekeepers, and President Rivera steps out towards the podium at the top of the marble steps.

"People of Panem!" He roars to the crowd and cameras. I notice that his eyes are puffy, red rimmed. He can't have gotten much sleep during the rebellion. There's no way to feel secure in your power when millions root for your demise and burn posters of you in bonfires. "I have spent days trying to think of what to say to all of you. I knew this would happen from the moment the first gunshot rang through the air. I knew the Capitol would prevail above all! But I never imagined a full rebellion." He pauses, pulls in a breath. "Has the Capitol not been kind to you? Have we not kept you supplied with all you needed? Have we not kept you alive, even after the rest of the world crumbled?"

In my little house in District 4, there is silence. All Rivera says is true, but it's only half the truth. I want to scream, "What about the starvation? What about the sick children who have no chance of getting medicine?" but I don't break the silence in the house. The silence that probably stretches from the Capitol to whatever's left of District 13.

Rivera begins to speak again. "I weep for the lost. For the ones who died in vain. I even weep for those lost in District 13, although they began this rebellion that has killed so many. But I weep most of all for the children who died because adults could not settle their differences calmly." Liar. I don't believe the words that slither out of the old man's mouth for one second. Rivera has never shown that he cares for anyone but himself. "I wish, above all, for peace. But you know that peace is not so easy. You are all criminals. You must all be punished."

My mother begins to cry. We have no clue what our punishment will be, but judging by the rubble that is District 13, the Capitol does not go easy on its…enemies. Khalia crawls out onto my lap, a thumb in her mouth. "Stop that," I whisper into her soft red hair. "Grow up." She bursts into tears and my mother scoops her up.

"Shh, Kailaini. Leave her be." Then my mother turns to face the screen once again. Rivera is talking about a war tribunal he formed.

"I did not participate in any of the judgments, or the sentencing. But it is my duty to relay to you what has been decided." He opens up an envelope that was waiting for him on the podium. "The tribunal has found the people of Panem guilty of the murders of one hundred seven thousand and seventy three people." One hundred _thousand_? My family looks at each other in shock, then remember that there were thousands living in 13, and even our district lost 12,000 people after the shipyards burned.

Rivera looks steadily into the camera, knowing that the people are possibly rebelling again. He over-estimates how war-weary we've gotten, and how no one would dare cross the peacekeepers who now wander around town, making sure everyone is glued to their television.

"Remember what happened to 13, and keep our new peace. Now, I shall read your sentence." Rivera takes an inordinate amount of time to turn the paper over, scan it first himself, then speak. "The people of Panem, who have been tried by an appropriate war tribunal, have been found guilty on all counts. Therefore, the Districts are sentenced to an annual event known as the Hunger Games." A game. Games aren't that bad. Unless it's a Capitol game.

The crowd on the television looks confused. Obviously none of them have been let in on the secret yet. Rivera looks down at the paper again, clears his throat, and tells us the details.

"In these…Games…each District will be forced to send two tributes—one boy, one girl—who will be chosen at random. The tributes will spend time in the Capitol, to train, and then will travel to a specially designed arena, where only one can emerge as a victor." Rivera finishes, and then scans the crowd. I can't tell what the men and women are thinking under the layers of makeup and chiffon, but a few moments later, they explode into cheers, clapping, stomping their feet, whooping.

Rivera studies the crowd's reaction, a small smile playing on his pale lips. He clears his throat, and the sound dies down. "The tributes will be chosen from a pool of boys and girls, ages twelve to eighteen. None will be exempted, but volunteers will be allowed to take the selected boy or girl's place. The rest of the terms of the Hunger Games will be read by a peacekeeper in each district tomorrow at noon. Goodnight, Panem." With that, Rivera turns smartly on his heel, and goes through the mahogany doors into his mansion.

I can hear a small sound coming from my mother, like a wounded animal. I don't know what she could be thinking, but I only have one thought in my mind.

I'm 15. The perfect age for a competitor in the Hunger Games. Khalia is only seven, so maybe she'll be spared. How long can this punishment last, really? Eventually the President and those in charge in the Capitol will feel as though we've suffered enough, and stop the games.

I crawl up onto the couch, and squeeze in between my parents. Dad is staring at the television screen, which has really gone black. The power's gone again, but no one makes a move to light the candles. My mother begins to really sob, burying her face in Khalia's soft hair. My sister's eye glint in the darkening light as she stares steadily into my face.

We must have all fallen asleep in the living room, because when I wake, I find myself still curled up between my parents, and Khalia's using me as a pillow. As gently as possible, I slide down through the tangle of arms and legs, and turn to the window. By the look of the sky, it's around 6 a.m. Peacekeepers lean against buildings, most of them sleeping. No one is stirring in any of the buildings in sight, but I imagine some men will be up to work on the docks today.

I have nothing to do but look for something to eat. Nothing has reached the District since the day 11 rebelled, and District 10 was taken by the Capitol early on. They weren't going to send anything to us.

All the cupboards are empty, and I don't dare open the icebox, which is probably filled with rotting fish. We're one of a lucky few families to have a chicken coop though, so I head out to check for eggs. I notice the second that I step into the bright sunlight that something's wrong. It's the silence. I can't hear Pinto, our rooster, crowing at the sun. He's not too bright, so I don't think he's gotten out on his own.

_Peacekeepers_, I realize. They've been causing trouble because the Capitol hasn't bothered to send them food, either. Poor Pinto was probably a delicious feast for two or three of the men now sleeping in our gutters. I hope he tasted as bad as he acted. There's still hope for eggs, though, so I crawl into the coop.

The hens still cluck quietly inside, but not a one has laid an egg, and with Pinto gone, they never will. I grab the one closest to me, and bring her inside. My mother has gotten up, and looks at the bird in my arms.

"No eggs?" She asks a resigned look on her face.

"They took Pinto, too," I tell her, tears beginning to sting my eyes. She just grabs a large knife from the counter, and brings the hen outside. By the time my mother has the hen all plucked and gets the fire going, my father and Khalia are awake. No one speaks, but we really don't need to. Reality is finally sinking in after the months of rebellion, and the brief fever dream that was the rebellion.

We wait quietly inside the house until around 11:30, when a peacekeeper knocks loudly on the door, then demands we head to the square to hear the laws of the Hunger Games. I'm visibly shaking, and for the first time in years, I take my father's hand when he extends it to me.

Everyone is spilling out onto the streets, pushed forward like cattle by the peacekeepers. My mother grabs my other hand and my father pulls Khalia up into his arms so we don't lose her. Then we allow ourselves to be swept away by the crowd heading towards the justice building, where an enormous stage has been erected.

I'm amazed by how many peacekeepers there are now in town. They ring the town square, three rows thick, and still more surge in behind the crowd of townspeople. "Kai, Kai!" I hear Khalia yelling. She's still in my father's arms, safe, but she reaches out to me. I ignore her as the peacekeepers begin to quiet the crowd.

It's not as silent today as town had been last night. Men shuffle their feet, and I hear a few people cough into their sleeves. Maybe they don't realize that their children could be chosen. Statistically, it seems like a long shot for each of us. But even in a one in a million chance, one still has to be chosen. And our numbers are quite a bit smaller. After 15 minutes of waiting, the crowd begins to get restless. We just want to find out the details of our doom and go.

Finally, 45 minutes after arriving, a man climbs to the stage. He's followed by two heavily armed peacekeepers, both women. He's obviously from the Capitol, with bright pink hair, perfect button nose and a purple moustache tattooed over his lips. The people of the crowd, me included have a very bad reaction to the sight of him, dressed in fine clothes, and more than just a little pudgy.

"Ahem," the man begins, and the crowd hisses in response. Khalia wails, which I believe is ridiculous for a seven year old. "Hello, District 4. I am Leonel Kimbrall, from a faraway place called the Capitol, where President Rivera resides." Leonel pauses to let the words sink in a bit. Does he think we're idiots?

"Well, let's get straight down to business then, shall we?" Leonel pulls a paper out of his pocket, along with a pair of glittering spectacles, which he perches precariously on his nose. "I'm sure _whale_ have a great time!" No one laughs at the pun. He seems pretty stupid to me. Leonel clears his throat again, and begins to explain about the Hunger Games.

"The President decided to send me to you the rules because I will be your liaison to the Capitol for the Games! I shall show the tributes around the Capitol, and make sure you run on schedule. Now, the tributes shall be selected at a little ceremony called a _reaping_ in exactly one month's time. All boys and girls between the ages of 12 and 18 will be eligible. Today, you will all sign up for the reaping.

"A twelve year old will be entered one time, a thirteen year old entered twice, fourteen three times, and so on. However, if one so wishes, they may sign up for a _Tessera,_ which is a monthly allowance of grain. The boy or girl must enter their name once for every tessera they ask for." There's more about how many tesserae are allowed, but I don't listen. I'm already entered 4 times in the reaping, but with the low food supply at home, I need the tesserae. Once for each family member? 8 times. I listen again for more details.

"The tributes will then travel, -by train! To the magnificent capitol, with me, to compete for what we call sponsors then train and travel to the arena. All of Panem's citizens shall watch the events in the arena. And remember- only one person can be the victor. Happy Hunger Games, citizens of District four!"

He smiles brightly, expecting applause, but we only look to the peacekeepers to see if we can leave. One of the peacekeepers on stage moves to the microphone.

"All citizens between the ages of 12 and 18 please stay in the square, and forms 2 lines- one for boys, on for girls. Adults and young children may leave." The peacekeeper nods, then motions to her comrades surrounding us, who begin to herd the adults out. My mother gives me a look of pure pain, and tries to tell me something, but she's pushed away by one of the men in white. My father gives my hand one final squeeze, and then is swept away with Khalia. In a daze, I move into the girl's line, and wait for at least two hours before giving a peacekeeper my name and age. She fills out four slips of paper, then asks if I wish to sign up for the tessera. I nod my head, and hold up four fingers. She nods, fills out four more slips, then waves me on.

I have no way of knowing whose name will be pulled at the reaping, so why am I certain it will be me?


	2. Chapter 2

I make my way home through the streets in a daze. Around me, crowding the streets, are other kids who probably think that they're certain to be chosen. Just like I do. Two of us only have a little over a month to live. Well, at least one of us.

My house is over in the more middle class area of town. We're not poor, but we certainly don't have many luxuries. As I follow the crowd towards my street, my neighbor Demetra falls into step beside me, along with her brother Derick. Demetra's probably the most beautiful girl I've met, with long black hair, and skin that glows a golden shade, even in midwinter. I swear her eyes are the exact color of the sea.

"Wonder who'll get chosen," she says in a soft voice. I've known Demetra for my whole life. Before the dark days, we worked together at the shipyard, labeling the massive crates of fish the men would haul in. She never speaks in a soft voice. I just shrug my shoulders, and wrap my arms around myself. "I don't think we'll get chosen Kai, calm down." I shake my head.

"Don't lie to her." Derick says with a cold laugh. "We have as much a chance as anyone else of being chosen." I never liked Derick. He used to steal the dolls my mother sewed for me and rip off their heads. It's not like he's done it in years, but I still distrust him. Then there's the fact he's leaving to train to become a peacekeeper next year, at special request of our head peacekeeper, Ty Rhoades.

I push ahead of them in the crowd, away from the two. Derick could probably win the Hunger Games, if it's outright killing. If intelligence is required though, he's deader than the rebellion.

When I round the corner to my street, I see my mother standing by the front door of Demetra's house, talking with her father. The Arlyn's lost their mother during the dark days. I'm still not sure how it happened, but I know it involved Ty Rhoades.

"Kailaini!" Mom yells, and then rushes down the road. For the first time in months, she wraps her arms tight around me, so tight that I begin to think she's trying to absorb me. "You didn't sign up for the tessera, did you?" That must have been what she was trying to tell me in the square.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you. But when the train comes in a few days, we'll get extra food for all of us." There's no going back from that now. I doubt the peacekeepers would be willing to search through all the names and pull out four of mine. My mother gives me a look so laden with sadness I almost break down and cry myself. Instead, we head inside, and begin the longest month of my life so far.

Maybe it's not the longest month- I can't forget the starving months when 10 and 11 rebelled, shutting off food supplies to the rest of Panem. However, it's pretty bad. My family spends the days leading up to the reaping with everyone else in district 4, attempting to rebuild the parts of town that got destroyed in the rebellion.

The docks got the worst of the bombings and rebel riots, and since we all live off of the money from fishing, it's our number one priority. The men and a few women carry the logs shipped from district 7 down to the water, and help place them. It only takes a few days for each dock to be rebuilt, but there were hundreds lining our coast.

Young girls, like Demetra and I are expected to do smaller jobs, like repainting government buildings, but Demetra manages to get us jobs at the hotel, which is used exclusively by Capitol visitors, many of whom are overseeing the rebuilding. I'm allowed to bring Khalia with me. She needs to be watched because school is cancelled until the district is rebuilt. I really wish I didn't have to. She's the most annoying creature to ever be born.

It's not a very interesting job- we change bed sheets, pick up the towels from the bathroom floor, and try to make the rooms look presentable. The people from the Capitol are massive slobs, and wasteful too. They leave out plates full of food for hours, until the maids get free time to clean it. Even if the food's fresh though, we don't dare take any. My second day on the job a girl got fired for eating a bit of leftover sausage.

The hotel owner fired her in front of the rest of us as a warning. It won't do to put on a bad face in front of the Capitol citizens.

The day of the reaping, Demetra and I have to work in the morning. All of the Capitol citizens are overexcited for the reaping later that day. It's supposed to happen at 12:30, because the reapings will be aired live, and the Capitol wants them staggered. So that everyone will watch, whether they want to or not.

In the first room of the day, a couple from the Capitol is getting ready for the ceremony. I recognize the man quickly- he's been wandering around town in the evenings with a few friends. I've heard them calling it slumming.

Like all other Capitol residents I've met so far, they're slobs. There's a pile of clothes as tall as me on the floor, and the woman directs me to fold them and put them in something called a "boodwhar".

"Excuse me?" I'm being as polite as I can, eyes lowered, not looking at the woman, who's twirling in front of the mirror in only her undergarments. "What is that?" She stops spinning and glares at me.

"You don't know what a boudoir is?" She has a funny accent. "It's a classy word for that." She points to the walk in closet next to the bathroom. The door's ajar, and I can see another pile of clothing inside. I begin folding the copious amounts of dresses and skirts, with the occasional yell from the woman asking for a certain blouse or pair of shoes.

It takes 2 hours to fold and put away all of the clothes. She still hasn't picked out an outfit, but the one she's trying on is dazzling. It shimmers as she turns, and it's a beautiful aqua color that reminds me of Demetra's eyes. She sees me staring in the reflection from the mirror.

"How quaint. Have you ever seen sequins before dear?" It's the most condescending tone I've ever heard, and it's not the sequins that caught my attention. In fact, the sequins remind me of fish scales.

"Your dress reminds me of the ocean. It changes in the different lights." I explain, then my face flushes red. The woman considers me for a moment, then gives a curt nod.

"I'll go with this one then." She picks up a pair of matching shoes and sits down at a vanity.

"Is there anything else you need me to do ma'am?" My hand's already on the doorknob, but she stops me.

"Do you think they'll like me?" She asks, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She's absentmindedly mixing together bright colors with a fluffy brush.

"Who?" She could be talking about the people of Panem in general, people from Panem, or even just district four. I see a tear roll down her check, and turn the doorknob.

"Anyone." She whispers, then turns to look at me, and sees me trying to escape. "Go on then. No one likes me, not even my husband. Why should you." She's screaming now, and picks up a stray shoe to toss at me. I close the door in time to avoid being hit in the face. I tentatively open it again.

The heel of the shoe is stuck into the mahogany wood, and I thank whatever deity there is that I wasn't hit. "Ma'am?" I say quietly, and picks up a stray shoe to toss at me. I close the door in time to avoid being hit in the face. I tentatively open it again.

The heel of the shoe is stuck into the mahogany wood, and I thank whatever deity there is that I wasn't hit. "Ma'am?" I say quietly. She looks up, eyes red and puffy. "The reaping begins in a just a little while, so you should head out soon."

Instantly, she looks better. As she dabs at her eyes, she gives an excited squeal of pleasure. "Really? I get to sit in a special spot reserved for Capitol officials you know!" The woman turns back to the mirror and begins dabbing on makeup. These people from the Capitol are ridiculous.

Downstairs, Demetra's pulling off her ragged apron. Underneath it, she has on her nicest clothes- a pale green dress with a lace overlay on the bodice. There are obvious tears in the lace, but she still looks stunning. Under my apron I'm wearing my everyday working clothes. When I mention it, Demetra raises an eyebrow.

"Don't you want to look nice if you get chosen? Give them a good impression?" Demetra winks. She knows I don't care what people think, and anyway, I'm just hoping I don't get chosen. She grabs my hand and we head off to the square.

The sun is high in the sky, and I can already smell the crowd. Pens are cordoned off right in front of the stage that was left up after last month's announcement. Girls are going into one, boys into another. After checking in with a peacekeeper, Demetra and I find a place in the back of the pen. On the left of the stage are velvet cushioned seats for the Capitol officials. I can see the woman from the hotel fanning herself and speaking to a woman next to her. They both look ecstatic.

Up on the stage are these massive, hollow glass orbs with holes cut in the top. Inside are thousands of folded strips of paper. Eight of them have my name on them, written in a strange peacekeeper's handwriting. The most terrifying thought is that my fate is in the hands of Leonel Kimbrall.

Just as this thought pops into my head, the man himself walks out onto the stage with cheers from the Capitol citizens, and complete silence from district 4. "Hello hello hellloooo!" He roars into the microphone, energized by the presence of his fellow snobs.

"Welcome everyone, to the first reaping for district 4 in the HUNGER GAAAMES!" Leonel sounds like a seagull to me. "Now, here are the instructions. I'll pull two names from these glass balls, and then whoever I call will come to the stage. If there's someone out there who wants to volunteer to enter the games instead, please wait until both names are called, and both tributes are on stage." There's no sound from the crowd. Did he expect cheers? No one in their right mind will volunteer.

"Well then, let's get down to business," Leonel walks over to one orb, and reaches his hand in. He rummages to the bottom, then pulls out one single strip of paper. "Now, this is the name of the female tribute. Ladies first right?" He perches his glasses on his nose, and squints at the name. I can feel Demetra grip my hand tightly in hers, but no matter how much she cares for me, it won't change the outcome.

"Demetra Arlyn!" Leonel screams to the crowd. I turn to her, not able to see her beautiful face through the tears, and give her a tight hug.

"Win this for me Dem," I whisper into her soft hair. Then she's gone, pushed forward by peacekeepers. Leonel claps his thin hands together once.

"Splendid. Now for the male tribute." His hand dips into the other bowl for just a moment, and pulls out another name. "Derick Arlyn!"

Derick immediately jogs to the stage, a grin on his face. He's probably thinking about how easy it will be to kill his sister. Once he's standing on stage, Leonel speaks again.

"Would anyone like to volunteer as tribute for either one of our tributes?" Leonel looks like he doesn't want anyone to volunteer. What a fun time the Capitol citizens will have, watching siblings try and stab each other, or push each other off a cliff. I shouldn't do it. All my sense tell me that it is the worst plan a human being has ever formulated, but I can feel myself raising a hand, and words bubbling up in my throat.

"I will. I volunteer in place of Demetra!" The crowd is so silent that my quiet voice rises up to the stage where Leonel stands.

"How exciting! The very first volunteer in the Hunger Games!" He looks cross. I ruined his perfect game plan. A peacekeeper materializes out of nowhere, and pushes me towards the stage. Once up there, I can see my mother and father, sobbing into each other's shoulders. No sign of Khalia. Damn. I left her in the hotel.

Demetra runs to me, and catches me around the shoulders. She's clinging to me like a vise-grip, but I know the peacekeepers will be bringing her offstage soon. "It's okay." I find myself whispering into her hair again. "I couldn't let…that happen." Over her shoulder, I can see Derick grinning at me like I'm dinner.

"Promise me you won't be the one to kill him." She whispers back. "Win, but don't let his blood be on your hands. These games aren't worth it." Again she's taken from me, but this time, I'm the one headed towards pure doom. One glance at Derick tells me he's already plotting my murder.

"Thank you tributes. Now, let's go to the justice building! Families, you may visit your children before we leave for the Capitol!" Leonel ushers us quickly inside. A peacekeeper escorts me into one room and Derick into one directly across from me. After about ten minutes, my mother and father are escorted in.

"Mom, I'm sorry, I was in such a rush to get to the square I forgot Khalia, and—"I begin, but Mom cuts me off.

"Don't worry honey, Mr. Jocoby brought her to the square. What we need to focus on is you." She has tears shining in her brown eyes, but they don't spill over and she keeps talking. "I don't know what this game will be like, but I know you have to survive. For all of us."

"We love you Kai." My father says, reaching over and pulling me into his arms. "Just please, don't let them change you." I don't have time to ask who before the peacekeepers make them leave. Demetra comes in after them, leading Khalia. My little sister crawls into my lap, and begins sobbing into my shirt. Maybe she really does care for me.

"Kai?" Demetra says softly, and sits next to me on the velvety couch. Her arms reach around both me and Khalia, and we just sit there, crying into each other's shoulder's until the peacekeepers make them leave too. As she's leaving, Demetra reaches down and grabs Khalia's hand. There's no one else coming to visit me, but Derick's pretty popular, so I decide to wander around the room until Leonel comes to get me. Nothing in here has been changed by the dark days. A large seascape hangs on the wall, although the ocean is viewable from the window.

Just as I pick up a sparkling glass bowl from a side table, the door opens again. I turn and see the woman from the hotel slip inside, saying something to a man waiting outside. She claps her hands in joy as she turns to me.

"Isn't this just amazing!" She's hopping up and down lightly on her sky-high heels. "Now you get to travel to the Capitol, which is just to die for! I mean, you have a beautiful view of the sea, but everything is just so gritty and gross, ugh…" I stare at her in wonder as she babbles on and on.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, and she stops and looks around at me, as though she hadn't noticed I was there.

"I…I honestly don't know. Would you like me to leave?"

"Not if you wanted to say something." I respond lightly as possible. She blinks at me for a moment, and then extends her hand, and gives mine a weak shake before wiping her own on her skirt.

"I am Georgianna Caravos. My husband is an important official in the Capitol, and we were considering sponsoring you. That is, if you show well enough at the opening ceremonies." She's very matter of fact about it.

"Okay. Why are you _here?_" I ask her. She bites her lip. "Don't you have to work with Leonel to do that?"

"Well, I guess I just wanted you to know you have an ally. And I wanted to see you before…well, I don't want to let too much of the surprise away, now do I?" As she's finishing speaking, a man, presumably her husband, leans in the door. "Coming dear!" she says to him, then turns to me. "I'll see you in the Capitol sometime…Kailaini." Georgianna whirls out of the room, the perfect socialite, and I can hear her calling to other people in the lobby.

A peacekeeper comes to lead me to the train, and I willingly follow. Derick comes out of his room at the same time as I leave mine, and gives me a sinister smile. It's easy to ignore him as we walk through the streets to the nearby train station.

Then I board the long, sliver train to the Capitol, and most likely, my doom.

The train is gorgeous, but I can't pay attention to my surroundings. Leonel stands in the first room we enter, a giant smile plastered on his pale face. "You have no idea how excited I am! The very first Hunger Games and I get to show you two around!" Giddy with excitement, Leonel runs over and hugs us both. I assume Derick stiffens up to because Leonel pulls away with a funny look on his face.

"How long's it take to get to the Capitol?" Derick asks. He's flexing his muscles for some reason.

"Well, about two days from here. They were working on faster trains in district six before this war thing, so we'll have to suffer through the lag for now." I don't mind an extra day. One more day to live. I'm bursting with questions though, and they begin to flow out of me.

"What do we do on the train? In the Capitol? Do you know anything about the arena? Do we really have to kill each other?" I stop at the last question and blush. Leonel raises his eyebrows.

"Um, on the train you get to relax, but isn't it beautiful? There's a whole itinerary for you in the Capitol, and they won't tell anyone about the arena. It's a big, secret!"

He avoids the last question, which just tells me it's a resounding _yes._


	3. Chapter 3

It turns out that Leonel was given official instructions on how to prepare us for the Capitol. After showing us around the train, which is probably the most luxurious thing I've ever seen, Leonel sits us down in the dining car. Derick takes it upon himself to try every dish that's been laid out for us. I have to admit, the food looks and smells so good I'm tempted to copy him.

Instead, I turn to Leonel, who pulls out some thick papers that bear the Capitol's crest. "Okay, we don't have any actual plans for the train. Just enjoy yourselves in the time you have. There are clothes in your rooms," He explains, scanning the paper with a look of consternation on his face. "It says once you get to the Capitol, I'm to escort you to a re-make center. Wonder why…"

As he ponders this I pick up a piece of soft bread. There are jars upon jars of different jellies and other spreads on the table, but I don't have time to look at them all. I go with the old standby raspberry (bushes grow all over district four), and tune back in to Leonel.

"I guess they want to make you look good for the cameras." He's not even looking at us, so he doesn't see the hurt look on my face. Derick just continues plowing through the food, and likely hasn't heard one word. "You each get your own stylist, too! That is so exciting. They'll dress you for the opening ceremony, where you get to ride by the President. The stylists have been instructed to dress you to reflect your district…" He's off and babbling about how he thinks our outfits should look for the show.

Outside the windows, I can see the coast flashing by. I haven't actually been through that much of four, mainly because it's uncommon to leave your city. "Is this all district 4?" I ask Leonel as I cross to look out the windows.

"Yes, it is," He gets up and joins me. "It's one of the larger districts in Panem. It's the one most Capitol officials want to be sent to because of the view. The area used to be called Mexico, and it had a very large number of resorts." I just nod, and then ask him to keep explaining about the Capitol procedure.

"Yes, yes, of course," he says, grabbing the letter again. "After the opening ceremony, you get a week of special training sessions with experts, and at the end of the week, you make a presentation to the game makers." Both Derick and I are confused by the term, so Leonel explains. "The Gamemakers do like what the title suggests. They're the ones planning the arena, and I understand many of them were on the panel that created the games."

That means that they're my enemy, the reason I'm on this train. The reason I'm speeding away from the only life I've known. Leonel shuffles the papers again.

"The gamemakers will give you a score, from 1 to 12, which may determine how many sponsors you get. You need to remember how important sponsors are. Okay, scores are televised live, and the day after, you do an interview with only the most famous man in the Capitol—other than President Rivera, I mean." I look at Derick in confusion. We rarely watch television in district four, so we have no idea who Leonel is so excited about. "Haven't you seen Saamir Flickerman on television?" Leonel looks put out for a second then waves it away. "Oh well, you'll just love him. After the interview, you return to your rooms for the night, then on to the arena!"

I am purely disgusted at how excited he sounds. "Don't you realize 23 living, breathing, thinking _human beings_ are going to die?" I'm shaking with rage. Derick looks up at me, shocked. In town, I can be pretty meek, but I have real reason for my explosion. My bedroom's three cars away, which is the best I can hope for on a moving vehicle.

Once in there, I collapse on the bed and allow myself to sob into the soft pillows. It's been a long time since I had a good cry, and today was just a huge buildup to the outburst. Leonel probably does just think of it as a game- there's a reason they're being marketed as the Hunger _Games_. After letting myself cry for a good 20 minutes, I let myself out of my room to find Derick and Leonel in the television car.

Leonel looks up and sees me standing in the doorway, and waves me over. I begin to apologize, but he stops me. "It's okay, really. I wasn't paying attention to the fact that you're really humans." Well, it's close to civility, so I let it slide. "We're just about to watch a replay of the reapings, so you can size up your competition."

I sit on Leonel's right side, so I can avoid Derick. After the seal of Panem disappears from the screen, a man dressed all in red comes on screen. I assume he's Saamir Flickerman because of the way the crowd cheers his name. Or maybe people in the Capitol cheer for everything. His mouth is moving, but I hear no words.

"Ugh, those camera crews. They probably forgot to connect his microphone again. Oh well," Leonel sighs. "At least we don't _need_ to hear his commentary on the reapings." The reapings go in order, starting from one. The girl is simply beautiful, with bright red hair, blue eyes and a petite frame. Her name, comically enough, is Scarlett. Her male counterpart is around the same size as her, and will likely be one of the youngest competitors at the age of thirteen. His name's Micah something.

I always had suspicions about two, but now all the rumors are confirmed. The girl is pretty plain looking, but it's her name that matters—Rivera. Everyone always said that people from district two wish they were from the Capitol, and now I know it's true. I don't think your name is much of a defense in the arena though. The boy from two is really muscled, probably a very good competitor for Derick. I look over at Derick, but he doesn't even raise an eyebrow. He actually looks bored.

Once he sees the kids from district three, Derick bursts out laughing. Both of them wear glasses, and the girl is a bit hunched over. My father called it a scholar's hunch, because it develops after years of leaning over books.

"I wouldn't count them out just because they look funny now. The Capitol prep teams can do a lot of work on a person." Leonel says, throwing a glance Derick's way. "Besides, glasses are hot right now. They might give you a pair." Derick just shrugs and watches our reaping. I can't help but wonder what was going through his mind when he was called after his sister.

I take note of only a few more tributes- a disturbed looking boy from 7 named Zane, who already has a full beard at the age of 14; A haughty girl from 9 called Delphia, who betrays no fear; and sadly, a twelve year old boy named Basil Wick, who has to be ripped from his parents arms. Some of the kids are menacing, but I don't think I could ever try and hurt a kid like Basil or Micah.

After the replay of the reapings, we all go to our rooms for a little while before dinner. In my drawers, I find beautiful clothing in colors and materials I've never owned. There's a dress the same color as Georgianna's from the reaping. I slip it on, and twirl in the mirror. Back in four, everyone wears dark colors because everyone guts the fish, and the blood shows less prominently on a dark background.

Everything in this world seems to glitter, from the clothing the paint on the walls. Leonel tells me at dinner that it's a special type of paint made in district one which has broken mirrors mixed in.

For dinner there's twice as much as food as there was for lunch. It could feed my family for a month with this one meal. Judging my how fast Derick's consuming as much as he can, it wouldn't last half that long at the Arlyn's house.

Leonel talks all dinner long about how lucky we are to get our own stylist. Apparently, only the very upper class people in the Capitol have a personal stylist, and he's wanted one since he was young. I could care less. Since I've seen the competitors from all the districts, I'm convinced I only have a few weeks left, so what's the point of a stylist?

The next day I spend staring out the window, watching all the districts go by. The train doesn't actually enter any of them, but I can see that many districts were ravaged by bombs as badly as four. The thirty foot high fence around district 11 seems to go on for hours, and maybe it does. Leonel leaves me alone, occasionally passing through the train car I've claimed. Derick doesn't even wake up until one in the afternoon.

He comes out to my train car, and sits next to me on the window seat. We've never been this close to each other without his sister. He smells terrible. We're silent for ten minutes, mostly because I pretend he's not really there. Then he speaks.

"You know how easy it would be for me to throw you off the train, right now?" He's looking at me, eyes narrowed under his heavy brows.

"Yup," I say and turn to look out the window again. "You won't though."

He raises an eyebrow. "Why won't I?"A challenge.

"Number one, it's against the rules. Number two, you want an audience when you kill me," it's a whisper but he hears, and stares blankly at me for a little while, then shrugs.

"I guess. I'm hungry." He gets up and wanders off to the dining room. At least he warned me. There won't be any mercy on his part, and I might well be enemy number one in the arena. I won't be going down without a fight though.

Around noon the next day, we enter the tunnels. They go straight through the mountains which surround the Capitol. Leonel finds me and Derick and goes over our itinerary one last time, and reminds us to be on our best behavior. "There's camera's everywhere, so make sure to seem charming. Try and please potential sponsors."

I nod once, and then watch the Capitol come into view. It's dazzling. I don't think that any bombs touched here, and I can't see any signs of ground fighting. Where do they keep all the weapons of mass destruction?

The train station, also called the welcome center, is swarming with people in eccentric clothing. They throw themselves at the train as it comes to a full stop, screaming for us. Once we get off the train, a swarm of peacekeepers encircles us, but a few Capitol citizens still break through. One woman has a piece of paper and a pen that she shoves at me.

"Can I get your autograph?" She screams over the din. I sign my name quickly as she turns to a friend and says, "the price will go up so much when they die!" A peacekeeper gently pushes her away, and gets us to waiting cars. Honestly, I can't wait to get into the arena and out of the Capitol. It has to be an improvement.

We get dropped off at a large building in the city, and are led inside by more peacekeepers. Then I find out what Leonel meant by "remake".

Inside my solitary room, I'm introduced to three strange creatures. They're brothers, I think, and triplets. The only thing that distinguishes them from the others is hair color. They're handsome, and their hair hangs in soft straight sheets down to their shoulders. Harlan has soft violet-grey hair, Horatio has kelly green locks, and Hubert has ice blue hair.

They hover over me for at least two hours, snipping locks of hair, painting my nails, and remarking on my skin. "It's so soft!" Horatio will say, then ask me how I treat it. The thing is, I don't. I'm at the docks all day usually.

"Must be the salt water," Hubert exclaims, petting my face. "Natural remedies are very big right now." Harlan does my makeup. In blue and green tones, then call for my stylist. In walks a man even more eccentric than the tributes. Long, sharp, stick-on nails adorn his every finger, and he has false lashes on that can brush his forehead. I shudder to think what outfit he has planned for me.

"Hello darling!" he exclaims, and rushes over to me. "I'm Antone, and I have created the best costume for the opening ceremonies! You're so thin you'll probably fit, too!" I'm thin because I don't eat due to the fact the Capitol cut off our food supply for three months, but I won't say anything. "Darling, you're going to be a mermaid!"

Dear lord.

I'm mortified as I climb into me chariot along with Derick. We have matching outfit, his sans the shell bra. The tails are made of net and real fish scales, and nets are draped artfully around us and the chariot. The last thing I want to do is ride out in front of the entire nation right now. Looking around at the other tributes, though, I see weird is the norm.

District two's tributes are entirely covered in jewels, so much that you can't tell who's male and female. The poor kids from district 12 are smeared with coal dust. I hope there are no open flames out there.

"I'm going to push you off the chariot," Derick growls in my ear as we line up in descending order from district one.

"Sure," I snarl back. Honestly, he's moving up on my hit list, as if he weren't already number one on it. Antone and Derick's stylist, Florence, come over to make final adjustments on our outfit, and make snarky comments about the other tribute's costumes. Once they're done, we're sent out into city central.

Light flashes from all sides as photographers try and get the best photos of tributes. Thousands roar as we roll by on our chariots, each person cheering on a different tribute. I thought we all looked ridiculous, but the crowd loves it. District 10, dressed as a bull and a cow, get huge applause.

The ride to the President's mansion seems to take forever. Finally, we pull up alongside the "dorks", as Derick calls them, from district three, and see the President watching the procession from a balcony. Rivera looks as though he's finally gotten some sleep in the past month. Once the last chariot has pulled up in front of the mansion, Rivera begins his speech.

"Good evening!" He has a smile plastered on his face so wide I think his cheeks will tear. "Welcome to all of you in city center with me tonight, and hello to everyone in the districts, who are watching on live television!

"In one week, you will see these tributes arrive in the arena! It's being kept under wraps, but I've been given some information, and I must tell you, this will be a very exciting few weeks. Tributes, I hope you make the most of your time in the Capitol, and I will see one of you at the end of the Games. Happy Hunger Games!" He roars to the crowd now, then adds in afterthought, "May the odds be ever in you favor, tributes." Then he waves to the crowds, and goes back inside his home.

I can hear people repeating his last line to each other, and wonder how long people will be repeating it. It can't last that long—it actually sounds stupid. The chariots take us to a tall building that looks as though it's made entirely out of glass. The training center.

Leonel, Florence, and Antone wait for us in the lobby, along with the other stylists. They look pretty put out. "District three's stylist used sequins. They looked just like you," Florence pouts.

"They had tails?" I ask, turning to look at them. They're dressed as circuit boards, square and glimmering, but no tail in sight. Antone shakes his head.

"It's not that," he says. "I wish stylists could just be original for once." Florence nods in agreement, then they lead us over to glossy elevators set against the far wall. We're on the fourth floor (which is really the fifth), in reference to district four.

I had thought that the train was luxurious, but it pales in comparison to our apartment. A crystal chandelier hangs from the center of the great room's ceiling, casting weird, beautiful shadows on the walls. There's a giant television hanging on one wall, lightly glowing like the one at home.

Home. Thinking about it reminds me that I have one week here until I enter what I expect to be a nightmare. I want to go cry again.

"Leonel?" I turn to him. "Can I just take any room?"

"Don't you want to watch the replay of the opening ceremony?" He asks, confused. I shake my head, and he points to a hallway I hadn't noticed before. "I think your room is the last one on the left. Just check the clothing. If its boy's clothing, that's Derick's room and yours is just across the hall." I give him a nod

The room on the left has girl's clothing, so it must be mine. The view of the Capitol is spectacular, but I notice that the stars aren't visible here. Light from the city makes the sky glow a soft purple at night. Without the stars and sound of waves hitting shore I won't be able to sleep here. The fact that I can't stop thinking about how I'm going to die soon puts a damper on the sleeping thing too.

I turn and flop down on my bed, which is covered in at least a foot of furs and blankets and hear a sloshing noise.

Great. A water bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hey there! I hope you're liking the story so far, because I've been putting a lot of thought into it. I'd really appreciate it if you guys review, even if you don't like it. As long as it's constructive criticism, It'll only help the story get better! Thanks!**

When I do manage to sleep, it's only for a short while. I find myself waking up countless times in the night, convinced Derick will creep into my room during the night and smother me with a pillow. Finally, I give up and wander around the apartment.

The massive windows let in a soft, pink glow from the city. Most of my life, until the dark days really, I had wished I lived in the Capitol. The men and women who paraded around on television had seemed so happy and beautiful to me. Now I can see they're kind of stupid. And rude. Self absorbed. Cruel.

I wonder what the other tributes are doing right now. Are they sleeping, like Derick? Or are they staring out at the same pink sky as me, counting the days they have left? The feeling of butterflies in my stomach reminds me of the first day of school. I wonder what the other tributes think of me. It doesn't matter, unless they see me as a threat. If one of the kids like Derick sees me as a threat, I have even less time.

Leonel finds me in the morning. I'm still staring out the window, perched on the sill with my knees under my chin. "I was wondering," He begins as he reads some sort of high-tech menu, "If you have any special talents, or skills. They might help you in the arena."

"Uh, I can tie knots well and swim, but so can Derick." Everyone from four can do that. It's what we were born to do. Leonel considers me, stroking his tattoo mustache.

"Then I guess training's going to be a big help. Maybe today you can just try out all the skills they offer." It's a good suggestion, but I'm not paying attention.

"Why do you do that?" I ask, staring at him rudely.

"Do what, dear?" Leonel says, confused.

"You stroke your mustache tattoo, when you think," I explain, stroking my own upper lip. He stops immediately. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just weird that you do it, because it's not real, you know?"

"It's reassuring, I think. I don't notice that I do it anymore." He squints at something in the distance, in a reverie. "When I was younger, my mother opted for this process a dermatologist does. It stops the growth of facial hair. She hated my father's beard, but I always wanted one. So I got it tattooed." He shrugs and picks up a cup of coffee that came up through a hole in the table.

"Hmm." I think about it for a while. Everyone has a security blanket. I ask Leonel what mine is.

"That," he says immediately, gesturing to me in general. "You're always so wrapped up in yourself. I don't mean mentally, but physically. Like you're scared of letting something go." I never noticed it until now, and immediately stretch myself out. We spend a few moments of amiable silence together, and I even eat breakfast although my stomach is dancing like the ocean. Antone and Florence join us about an hour before training, and Leonel finally gets Derick up ten minutes before we have to leave. Derick moves fast for someone so…stupid, and has gotten dressed in his uniform (Sea green tunic and black pants, like mine) and eaten a solid 5 pounds of food by the time we need to leave.

When the elevator stops at our floor, the tributes from nine are already in it with their version of Leonel, a woman named Tisa. Tisa has red hair, red contact lenses, red clothes, red everything. I remember the girl from nine is named Delphia. The girl who I saw during the reaping is gone, replaced by colorless skin and a twitch in her lip. Something's terrified her—just the idea of going to the arena or something more?

The ride down to the basement is possibly the most awkward of my life. Aside from the fact that I'm such close proximity to people who might kill me, Leonel and his district nine counterpart have something going on. They exchange strange glances, and clench their jaws. Her eyes even seem to tear up a little by the time we reach the training area's lobby.

Leonel's not allowed in, but I give him a swift hug as I depart. Derick practically weeps with joy when he sees the arsenal of weapons lining the room. Before he can practice being a serial killer though, we must listen to the introductory speech. The man who gives it is ancient, but he's probably like Ol' Jack, a man from four.

Ol' Jack's probably nearing 100 years in age, and looks pretty harmless. The people who think Jack's harmless are those who haven't seen him in action fishing. The second he reels in a Bluefin, he transforms into a young man again, fighting the fish with vigor, and finally lifting the prize above his head. That's pretty impressive, considering the fish can be around 800 pounds, and Jack probably weighs around 80.

"Welcome tributes. My name is Eloy, and I am in charge of the training center." He looks at each of us in turn. He has piercing eyes, and despite his age, I'm terrified of him. "Now, none of you know what awaits you in the arena. Therefore, I stress that you attempt to visit every station. Do not focus on only one skill. We do not know if there will be swords, so do not waste all your time perfecting swordplay.

"You need to fend for yourself in the wild, so I recommend trying the edible plants station. Try watching each other; you may learn invaluable things about your opponents. Remember, at the end of the week, you must try and impress the other Gamemakers and I. Try and surprise me."

_Other Gamemakers and I?_ I wonder if he's the head Gamemaker. It seems unlikely, but we weren't told what to expect from the Gamemakers. I'm still considering this when I notice all the other tributes have already moved to stations. 6 boys are crowded around the sword station.

Most of the other stations are empty- nearly everyone went straight to weapons training. No one has gone to the edible plants station. I don't think Eloy is going to lead me wrong, and I've never had to gather my own food. The instructor is a woman who's eager to teach. I spend a few hours there, until lunch.

Since we don't know what the arena is, there's so much to learn. There are thousands of plants of course, and many are very misleading. The instructor shows me a round, soft, green fruit. It seems completely harmless, but it's highly poisonous. Eventually, I just try and remember as many edible plants as I can. That way, if I don't know if a plant is edible, I'll just assume it's poisonous.

At lunch, most kids sit with their district partner, but Derick has other plans. He's sitting with the tributes from 2, both of whom already seem lethal. I'm about to sit down alone when Derick waves me over. It couldn't hurt to sit with them.

I find out that the boy from two is named Shon, and that he's 18. Both he and Rivera are excited about the games, and spend lunch trying to guess what the arena will be like and sizing up competitors.

"I think we should go for the little ones first," Rivera says, looking over to the district one table. Micah sits there, eyes darting nervously around the room, but never making eye contact. "We can't be soft on these people. After they're gone, the game can really start."

"Wait, we?" I look up in surprise. "I never agreed to anything. Is it even allowed?" Rivera and Shon throw Derick a look.

"Your friend said you'd be up for an alliance of sorts," Shon explains. "Said you're pretty good with fishing and stuff." Derick shrugs.

"I'm sure she'll be up for it when she sees the arena," he says, completely convinced he understands me. I push my plate away and stand up. "Where ya going, buddy?" He's so self confident. In the past two days he's made it clear he wants to kill me, now he wants my help?

"Sorry, no deal." I turn to walk away, but someone catches my arm. It's Derick, who's lost his self-assured grin. "Let go," I hiss through my teeth, and try and shake free of him. The circulation in my arm is starting to get cut off.

"How 'bout you finish your lunch Kailaini," he says back. "You'll need your strength." I'm acutely aware of the eyes boring into my back. All the other tributes have stopped moving, stopped talking. Derick jerks on my arm again, and impulsively my hand balls into a fist. I punch him with all the force I can muster, and hear bones breaking. Mine.

Just as peacekeepers rush into the room to stop the fight, Derick returns the blow. The last thing I remember is the strange red color all the lights in the room are glowing before I fade into the blackness.

When I wake up, lunch has only just ended. The room I'm in is nondescript and has nothing but my bed and a digital clock in it. A doctor walks in to check on me. He lifts up my hand to the light and I notice the searing pain. My eyes start watering and I clench my jaw.

"Hurts again?" the doctor asks. "We had you on morphling at first but you had a bad reaction to it. You broke five bones in your hand." Five? Stupid Derick with his thick skull.

"Did I get him?" I ask the doctor, who laughs.

"He got 6 stiches in his cheek and a broken nose. He's already back in training." The doctor checks my pulse and the bandages on my hand. "I'd say you're good to go. Just stay away from anything strenuous today. I injected some medicine in your hand, so the bones should heal by tomorrow." He follows me out of the room, and chuckles quietly. "You know, they made a specific amendment to the rules. 'In the time before entering the arena, tributes may not enter altercations of any sort. If any engage in physical combat, the instigator and all else involved shall be executed and replacements chosen in a special reaping.'"

"That's not happening for us, is it?" I ask in a panic. The doctor shakes his head as we walk towards the training center.

"No, the rule hadn't been implemented yet." He responds, and then leaves me at the door to the training center. I brace myself before pushing the heavy doors open. Every tribute and instructor turns to watch me walk in, but my eyes go straight to Derick. He's got an ugly scar running across his lip, and bandages over his nose. I didn't know I could hit that hard, and smile.

He takes the smile as defiance, and narrows his eyes. My mother always referred to this saying- "If looks could kill". Well, I'd be dead right now. Derick's still with Rivera and Shon, but they're looking at me differently. With approval and…fear? I flex my muscles and they look away. Now all bets are off.

For the rest of the day, I work at the camouflage station, carefully painting over my bandages. Occasionally, I look up to see another tribute staring at me. When I meet their gaze, they look down at the floor or whatever weapon they're trying out.

My original strategy of appearing weak is out the door now. All of the actual weak tributes will run from me, and the tougher ones will be on my trail the whole time.

We're let out of the training center for dinner, and I find myself riding the elevator with Scarlett and Micah, the tributes from one. Micah backs against the wall, trying to keep away from me. Scarlett, however, is fearless.

"So was that fight spontaneous, or had it been building up for a while?" she asks, looking straight forward, towards the elevator doors.

"He's my best friend's brother. He had it coming," I see her eyes flick over to me quickly. "He's been threatening to kill me since the reaping." Scarlett turns to face me now.

"I know I don't look very tough, and nor does Micah," she says, and he throws her a dirty look. "Sorry kid, it's true," she shrugs, then turns back to me. "Anyway, we do have some tricks up our sleeves. If you're not going to work with two, go with us. We are number one, after all." The elevator doors slide open, and they exit.

For the rest of the ride I consider their offer. They might make valuable assets because no one expects anything out of them. The elevator opens onto my floor, and I see Leonel and the stylists waiting for me. Derick's elevator hasn't arrived yet.

"So, how did training go?" Leonel rushes forward. "Where's Derick?" He looks behind me as though I could hide the hulking boy behind me. So they haven't heard about the fight. It won't take long for them to notice something's up if they see my hand and Derick's stitches.

Derick's elevator arrives then, and he steps off. It heads back down empty. He must have ridden with Rivera and Shon. Leonel turns pale. "What happened? Did they let you practice on each other?" He finds the bandages on my hand then. "Why would they do that? You might kill each other before the arena!"

"We got into a bit of a fight," I explain, and start to head off for the sanctuary that is my room. I hear Derick snort and turn.

"If you call it a fight," he says, and walks to the table and picks up a menu. "She got in one lucky hit, that's all." Antone pipes up.

"That's just barbaric, fighting like that. Be civilized." I stare at him in horror. Fighting's uncivilized? What about sending 24 teenagers off into the wilderness to try and kill each other? It's pretty hard to resist the urge to slap him. Instead, I join Derick at the table. He's just ordered around a half ton of food. I select the first thing on the list.

"Lucky hit?" I whisper. His eyes flick to me.

"That's what I said Kailaini. It's not going to happen again." The food appears out of the table and he picks up a turkey leg. I grab the other one and rip off a chunk of flesh from it.

"You know, I promised your sister I wouldn't kill you, but I don't think she'd mind that much if I broke my promise," I respond with a growl. He starts to raise his hand, to slap me or something, but Leonel and the stylists come over to the table.

Florence picks up a small bowl of fish eggs. "Thank you for ordering dinner for everyone Derick!" she exclaims, trying to act lighthearted. The tension in the air is still thick, so she turns on the television, which flickers to life showing Saamir Flickerman and a strange looking man with a fluffy black beard.

"So far, who would you say is the odds on favorite?" Saamir asks the man, who is identified by a blurb as Eliseo Clemens, head Gamemaker.

"No one has emerged thus far as a really strong contender," Clemens responds in a rasping voice. "But I've heard some talk about the boys from two and four." Saamir nods.

"I remember seeing them at the opening ceremony. Will strength be a key factor in the arena?" Saamir asks slyly. Clemens gives a short laugh.

"You know I can't reveal anything Saamir!" He says with a flip of his hand. Saamir pouts and turns to the crowd.

"But I'm sure we'd all love a little tidbit, wouldn't we?" The crowd cheers in response. Saamir turns back to Clemens. "Come on, one little hint wouldn't hurt, would it?" He bats his eyelashes ridiculously.

"It's a secret, so I won't say anything specific. Let's just say there are surprises at every turn, Saamir." Clemens smiles. It's a horrifying smile, more of a grimace, and I catch a glimpse of sharp canine teeth. Saamir rolls his eyes.

"Well, thank you anyway, Eliseo." He turns to the cameras. "Now we'll hear from an analyst about the odds for each tribute." Clemens leaves and is replaced by a bookish man who goes down the list of tributes and the betting odds so far. Derick and Shon are virtually tied for favorite, followed by Rivera and the girl from 11. I'm in fifteenth place, and Micah comes in last.

Derick, obviously pleased with himself, stuffs a cake in his mouth and heads for bed. I hope that being fifteenth won't hurt my chances with sponsors. I'll really have to prove myself to the gamemakers and get a good score at the end of the weeks.

I spend another sleepless night staring out of the window at the city. A vibrant night life goes on in the streets, and I can hear a faint booming rhythm rise to the windows. Lights from the nightclubs flash through the airs, crossing each other and making fantastic colors. None of the people down there have a verified expiration date and I envy them.

Once in a while, people passing through the street below point up at the training center. Three or four see me sitting in the window and point up. One even whips out a camera and tries to take a photo, but the flash off the windows probably ruined it.

When I was younger, I imagined being famous like the people in the Capitol sitcoms. Now that I am recognizable, and famous in a way, I just want to go back to four and be obscure. Back to stitching up nets and labeling crates of fish. Back to my family and Demetra.

I heard a television personality announce one night that the winner of the games would win riches beyond their wildest imagination, a beautiful home and most of all, pride for their district. I never imagined winning before now, and vow to make it home. And to do that, Derick has to die.

The rest of the week passes by in a blur. Training goes on and on, and I learn to use a bow and arrow, set snares, and even to throw knives. I watch Derick very closely, sizing him up to see his skills.

He's good with a sword and weightlifting, but hopeless with a bow and arrow. He never once visits the edible plants station, or any station that doesn't involve a deadly weapon. Maybe he'll starve to death, and I can keep my promise to Demetra.

On the day of the gamemakers' review, we're called in one by one. The boy from the District goes first, so I'll be eighth to show off my skills. None of the tributes come back, so they must go through another door. I have no clue what to show them, but I want to be impressive. I don't have any skills that the other tributes didn't have, though.

Once Derick has been called through the door, I have to practice breathing. It wouldn't help to hyperventilate at this point. Fifteen minutes later, I hear my name emanating from the training room. I take the deepest breath of my life and step into the room. The doors shut automatically behind me.

The Gamemakers sit at a table on a raised dais, glaring down at me. Looking at them, I realize they're new at this too. They don't know what to expect out of me. I can do anything.

The knife throwing station has several large blades laying out, shiny and sharp. I pick up a medium sized one and turn to the row of human shaped targets on the far wall, and aim for the heart of the one in the center. I know it's off course as it leaves my hand, and it sticks into the eye of a target three down from where I was aiming.

There's and appreciative murmur from the end of the room. Maybe, just maybe I can get through this simply from a string of errors. I never learned to use a trident, but being from district four, I feel a pressure to use it.

It's heavier than expected, so I try and play it cool, weighing the trident in my hand. _What am I going to do? I can't just put it down; I'd look like an idiot!_ Finally, I realize I have to throw it, and throw it I do. Miraculously, the trident finds a mark, and sinks its prongs in deep. If it weren't for luck, they would have sent me out by now.

I throw a few more things at the targets, and most manage to stick. I'm dismissed through a door I hadn't previously noticed, and find Derick waiting on the other side.

"So Kai, how'd it go?" He asks, voice laced with pure malice. I flip my hair like some ridiculous school girl.

"I think it went pretty well, _Der_," I say, my voice laden with sarcasm. "And you?" He presses the button for the elevator, waiting until we're safely inside to respond.

"I don't care if you're any good. But it will make your death scene so much more entertaining for those watching at home."

"Why would they be watching me die old and at home? I'm sure there will be more tributes after me," I say, sweet as candy. "But I'm sure the viewers will love seeing you bleed out once I cut your throat next week Der." His jaw tightens.

"Don't call me that," He says. I just smile.

"I'll make sure they spell your name correctly on the tombstone _Der._" I step smartly out of the elevator, and avoid him until our scores come on at night.

Scarlett and Micah pull low scores- a 6 and a 4, respectively. Rivera gets a nine and Shon a ten. Both district three tributes get sevens. Everyone—Leonel, the stylists, Derick and I—are in the main room to watch the scores. And we see Derick and I both get elevens. No one else scores as high as us.

"Well then," Leonel says. "I guess everyone has to watch out for district four then." As Derick's eyes meet mine, I know it's not true.

District four has its own tributes to fear.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hi again guys! Please don't forget to review- I have a happy dance for getting reviews! Plus it helps me write better, you know? Also, go vote on my poll about who should win the second Hunger Games! I'm already thinking about it. Thanks!**

After everyone else has fallen asleep that night, I leave my room to go sit in the window again, but something stops me. Derick left his door open a crack, but no light spills out from the room. As quietly as I can, I push the door open. The well-oiled hinges don't alert anyone to my trespassing, and I cross the soft carpet to his bed.

When we read novels in school and the main character comes across a sleeping villain, they're always surprised by how peaceful their foe seems. Derick is anything but tranquil in his slumber. His teeth are gritted, and he makes grunting noises as he slashes the air with his large hands. I'm tempted to wake him, but he'd probably attack me for it. Well, his restless sleeping will just make him an easy target in the arena.

After I leave Derick's room, I don't go to my window. I'm not really in the mood to watch the happy Capitol citizens tonight, so I climb in bed. I suppose they gave me a water bed to remind me of home, but it's actually pretty nauseating. Sleep won't come again tonight, so I spend the night rifling through my clothing, falling in love with the beautiful colors and styles.

Morning comes too quickly for my liking. Leonel knocks on my door around 9 a.m. and lets himself in. He sighs in exasperation when he sees the mess I've made of everything.

"Have you slept at all this week?" He asks me, a concerned look on his face. "Try and fit in a few naps today, okay? You have the interview with Saamir tonight, and I don't want you to fall asleep halfway through."

"That's tonight? So what are we doing today?" I ask him. Now that he mentions it, I realize I am very tired. Leonel starts to fold some of the clothing strewn across the floor.

"You're going to put on a dress and heels. I'm going to teach you and Derick how to act on live television," he says, throwing one of the dresses that landed on my bed at me. "We're still trying to get you sponsors." I'm grimacing. I have never worn a dress before—at least, not that I remember. My mother may have forced me into them when I was younger, but I wouldn't remember that. As Leonel makes a futile attempt to clean up the room, I remember something.

"Do you remember the elevator ride on the first day of training?" Trying to be as nonchalant as possible, a grab a blouse and try to fold it. Leonel snatches it out of my hands and folds it himself.

"Yes…why?" He responds warily. He knows what I'm talking about. It was the day we rode down to the training center gym with district nine and their escort. Leonel's blushing a ferocious shade of pink. I give him a look that states plainly _you know what I'm asking, idiot_. "Well, the uh, escort from nine and I used to date. We broke up recently. When we found out we'd be competing against each other with this thing." Then he flees the room, still carrying the blouse I had failed to fold.

Poor Leonel. I didn't know that any of the escorts knew each other in any way. I make a mental note to not team up with anyone from seven, so that he can avoid their escort. I pull on the dress he threw at me and find a pair of heels in the closet before heading out to breakfast.

Derick's wearing a finely cut suit with a bowtie that he keeps pulling at. Like every morning, he's ordering some breakfast from the electronic menu. Leonel is in the sitting area, moving chairs around to look like Saamir's set. From what we've been told, I know that everyone has a solo interview, and that the girl will go first.

I take the spot across from Leonel and lean back in the seat. Immediately, he begins correcting me.

"No, sit straight up, and cross your legs at the ankles. You want to seem lady-like Kailaini." He seems exasperated already. "I'm going to give you some sample questions. Just try and be effervescent." I have never heard that word before now, so I have to wing it. "Hello Kailaini!" He says in his best Saamir Flickerman accent, and I burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry, sorry," I try and calm down after Leonel throws me a scathing look. "Hello Leonel. How are you?" Leonel gives an approving nod.

"I'm doing great Kailaini." He skips asking me about my health and dives straight into questioning. "What was going through your mind when Derick's sister got called?"

"I just thought about how I couldn't let it happen. The Capitol has screwed us over enough already, and I couldn't bear the thought of siblings trying to kill each other, "I say proudly, only to look up and see Leonel staring in shock. "What, was that bad?" Leonel coughs softly.

"If I were you, I'd try and avoid calling everyone in the Capitol evil while you're in the Capitol." Well, at least I made the mistake now instead of while I'm face to face with Saamir. The interview is only supposed to last three minutes, but I'm stuck in my chair for almost an hour. As it turns out, it's a good thing that I've never had to speak to a government official before now. I would have probably been executed for treasonous sentiments.

When Derick begins his interview, he has the same problems as I do. He takes the seat across from Leonel with a pastry in hand that drips jelly all over his suit. Leonel almost throws up when Derick scoops up the jelly of his clothes with a finger and eats it. As for me, I have fallen off my chair laughing.

"First of all Derick, no food on live television." Leonel grabs the pastry and holds it away from his body. "You look like a pig," he explains as he tosses the pastry into the garbage. As he sits down across from Derick again, he sighs deeply. "Now, let's practice some questions."

They work for twice as long as I had, mainly because Derick has a problem not openly letting everyone know he wants to tear out my throat at the first possible chance. Leonel's pretty sure that saying things like that won't endear him to viewers. We break for lunch, and then Leonel lets the prep teams in to beautify us.

Because we each get interviewed separately and there's sure to be some close-ups of our faces, the triplets take special care of my head. Hubert massages goo into my hair while Horatio steals the straightening iron to work on his own green hair. They joke around with each other, ignoring the fact that I have ears.

"I think the boy from district two is a sure winner," Harlan says to Hubert, who scoffs.

"Yeah right. My money's on the girl from six. It's always the quiet ones!" They keep on talking about what they're excited for in the games, not once mentioning me. I guess I didn't make an impression on anyone. I sit in sullen silence until I see Hubert pull out a tray full of fish scales.

"What's that for?" I ask, staring at the shiny scales in fear. Are they turning me into a fish for the interview? Harlan laughs as he paints my nails blue.

"Antone won't tell us. He just said that we have to cover your neck and part of your face with these." Oh no. Please no. I can't stop them though, so I resolve to scratch the scales off once I'm free of Antone. There is no way I'm going to be a fish on national television. I just hope Derick will look as ridiculous as I do.

Antone sweeps into the room as the preps finish up, dress bag draped over his arm. He walks as though he's floating on a cloud. "You are going to be the most gorgeous girl in Panem!" he shrieks. "He turns to the preps, and Hubert takes the dress bag from Antone, holding it up by the hanger. Antone pauses for dramatic effect before unzipping the bag.

It's gorgeous in a way. Antone has brought the ocean into the room with this dress. It's a full length ball gown with a mermaid skirt that flows out softly behind it. The color shifts in the light, blue and green like the sea. The dress has drawbacks though. Like the fact that the bodice is entirely covered in shimmering material reminiscent of fish scales.

Antone is waiting impatiently for my response. As I open my mouth to speak he grins. "It's dazzling, Antone," I manage to say. He twirls around once.

"I know!" He squeals. "And, as another stroke of creative genius, Florence and I decided to dress the whole team as sea creatures!" I gulp, and see the preps do the same. Antone laughs. "Nothing extreme. Simply the colors. And I'm going to be a lobster!" Well, at least we'll leave an impression.

They leave me to get dressed in the creation and a pair of sea green heels. When I finally come out of my room, after hyperventilating for about ten minutes, everyone but Derick and Florence are by the elevator.

"Derick's having some trouble understanding the concept of his fins," Antone says by way of explanation. The round of ripping cloth floats out of Derick's room, along with a high pitched wail. Florence most likely.

Derick stomps down the hallway in front of Florence, who holds two glittering blue fins in her hand. Derick's suit has large holes in the sleeves, letting his scaled blue-green shirt peek through. The tension in the room runs high, and it's only broken when Antone pulls on his lobster claws. He swats at the buttons by the elevator doors, never once actually pressing one. Leonel shoves him aside and hits the down button.

It's a tense ride down. We got on the same elevator as district 12. Both tributes are dressed all in black, to represent coal, but they really just look like mourners at a famous person's funeral. It's kind of tragic though, considering they could be dead in less than 24 hours. We look at each other with wary eyes. Their prep team isn't with them, which confuses me.

It's a quick car ride to what they're calling the "Avenue of the Tributes", which is the long street we took out chariot ride down. At the far end, in front of the President's mansion, a full stage has been set up. The crowd is screaming Saamir Flickerman's name and are rewarded when the man himself strolls onto the stage.

All the tributes are ushered into a holding area under the stage. Scarlett, being the girl from district one, is called first. There are monitors set up around the room, so I listen carefully to hear what sort of things Saamir will ask. By the time the boy from three is called on stage, I have a pretty good idea of what I'll be asked. Saamir always brings up the training scores and how they feel about the competition.

A stage hand pushes me forward gently to the stairs that lead to the stage. I hear Saamir introducing me as the "beautiful mermaid from district four, Kailaini Moana!" The crowd roars, and I step out into the bright spotlight.

In front of the crowd of thousands, I feel strangely beautiful. I spin around once as I walk to my seat across from Saamir, so that the light catches every scale on the dress. The crowd cheers again, and I see Antone sitting in a place of honor at the front. He raises his lobster claws high in the air and clicks them. There's an amazing high that comes from being cheered on by I crowd. Ridiculously, I giggle as I watch Antone's antics.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome!" Saamir greets me, and kisses me on the cheek. He gestures to the seat across from him, and I sit down just as Leonel taught me- straight back, legs crossed at the ankles, and a huge, gleaming smile on my face. "You look delightful tonight. Congratulations to your stylist."

"Yes, he's brilliant," I say pleasantly. "Antone's turned me into a mermaid again!" Out in the crowd, he blushes as red as his lobster claws. Saamir laughs jovially.

"So, how about those training scores? Highest of the day other than your district four counterpart!" I don't know what he wants out of me. I have no clue what to say, or how to act. All I remember is that Leonel said to be effervescent.

"Oh well, it's no big deal. It's not like I got a twelve, Mr. Flickerman!" I let out a high pitched girlish giggle and flinch on the inside. Saamir laughs with me.

"Please, call me Saamir, Kailaini. How do you like the Capitol so far?"

"Oh, it's amazing. I've never seen anything so beautiful," I answer truthfully. "Every night this week I stayed awake and watched the night life." The audience is silent listening to me congratulate them on how wonderful they are. "Everyone here is so happy. No one at home has been happy since the dark days." Saamir watches me carefully. I've done it now. "Uh, and now I can see why the rebellion was such a terrible idea!" I finish brightly.

"That's what the games are here to do," Saamir says. "We only have a moment left. Would you like to say hello to anyone at home?" This man is a genius, and hopefully everyone will ignore the fact that I almost said something treasonous.

"Oh, yes!" I turn to face on of the cameras head on. "I want to say hello to my best friend Demetra and my little sister Khalia at home in four. I love you both! And you too, mom and dad!" Then Saamir gets me off the stage safely and calls Derick up. Leonel is going to flay me for this.

On the monitors around the room I see Derick shaking Saamir's hand and sitting down. "So Derick, the thing everyone wants to know is _what was going through your mind when you were reaped after your sister?"_ Saamir leans towards Derick, to show he's listening closely.

"It was terrible. When I look at the tapes, I see that I had this doofy smile on my face. I hope nobody thought I wanted to kill Demetra." He's a good actor. And an amazing liar. "I'm very glad for Kai, because she saved my family by volunteering." I gag openly. Thank goodness there are no cameras under the stage.

"Oh good. For a moment when I was watching the reapings, I thought you had gone crazy!" Saamir laughs. Derick shakes his head convincingly. "Now, we don't know who's going to win the Hunger Games, but if you did, what are your plans for when you get home?"

"Well, as you say, we don't know who's going to win, but when I do—"the crowd laughs as this witty boy—"When I do, I have a job lined up as a peacekeeper."

"Really?" Saamir says, and I think he's genuinely interested now. Not many people from the districts get a chance to be a peacekeeper. "How'd you get that job?"

"Let's just say I have _connections_, Saamir." Derick winks. I gag again. Derick wastes the rest of the interview saying hello to his friends back home, then Saamir moves on. As Derick bounds down the steps to the waiting area, I go up to him.

"I had no clue how much you owed me," I hiss. Derick brushes me off as he goes to Rivera and Shon.

"You know I was lying creep. It's all for the cameras." Rivera and Shon welcome Derick with pats on the back. They had lackluster interviews, and could probably use his star power right now. All the tributes have to wait for the interviews to finish, and then we get paraded back onstage.

Back in the training center, Leonel hugs us both, although Derick just stands stiffly when embraced. "Some people have already started talking about sponsoring you two! I'll be up all night negotiating for you two."

We watch replays of the interviews, mainly to size up our competition. I haven't even begun to create a strategy at this point, so I pay very close attention. There's not much information to be gained though, because every single tribute was on their best behavior. I notice Derick watching me from the other side of the couch. He's probably thinking up interesting ways to murder me.

"I think I'm going to try and sleep," I say, and leave the room. A soft rain falls over the city tonight, so I go to open the windows. Although there are latches on them, the panes won't slide apart, and I go to ask Leonel why.

"It's a new building," he says. "I have no idea why. They can't have rusted shut already. I have no clue why they don't open." He comes into my room and attempts to slide them open. "That's…very strange." He concedes. "But I wouldn't worry about it. You only have one night left here."

I shrug and flop into bed after Leonel leaves. Hopefully, this isn't my last night on earth, too.

I'm awoken in the morning by Antone. He's been designated to come with me to the arena. We take the elevator to the roof of the training center, where a hovercraft waits a few yards above.

A rope ladder is lowered, and I climb up. I expect Antone to follow promptly, but he doesn't show up until a doctor has injected me with something. She explained briefly that it was a tracker before she disappeared into another room.

There are no windows on the hovercraft—they don't want me to see the arena until I'm actually in it. The ride lasts hours, so I try and make small talk with Antone.

"I wonder why they had me climb up on my own," I say. "Aren't they afraid a tribute's going to jump before entering the arena?"

"Good point. I'll bring it up with a Gamemaker at some point." Antone says. We don't have much to talk about, considering how different we are, so the ride goes by mainly in silence. When the hovercraft touches down at first, we're still not allowed out. The pilot explains that we're being brought underground. It's another security measure to make sure that no one gets the advantage.

I have my own room in the underground tunnels, and there's clothing waiting for me. It's nothing more than a long, brown, shirt and black pants, much like the clothes from training. I put them on quickly, and turn to Antone for final words of advice. He doesn't have any of his own, just an official briefing from the gamemakers.

"Okay, in about-" he checks his watch, "about 3 minutes, that tube over there will bring you to the surface. Once up, you have to stand in place for 60 seconds, or you'll be blown sky high. Ugh. Sounds nasty. There's supplies from you at this thing they call a 'Cornucopia'. Whatever that means. It's your choice whether or not you go for anything…and that's it." We stand awkwardly for a moment before a disembodied voice orders me into the tube. Antone just stands staring at me.

Just as I begin to rise up to the arena, he whispers something to me. I barely catch it. "May the odds be ever in your favor Kailaini."

I don't really have time to think about what he said to me, because light floods into the glass pill I'm in, and I catch a glimpse of the arena.

I wouldn't have recognized the landscape before the dark days, but now I'd know it anywhere.

The toppled buildings and large craters are my first clue as to where I am, but it's the skeletons and decomposing bodies that really confirm where I am.

We're in district 13.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hi again! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, and I hope other's take the time to review this chapter too! If anyone was wondering what Kai's dress from the interview looks like, I posted links on my profile page. You can vote on my poll there too! Enjoy the story!**

My initial reaction is to panic. According to the Capitol's own newscasts, district thirteen is unsafe to enter due to high levels of radiation. Jindra Macer even said no one has gone to thirteen but scientists wearing protective suits. As I look around, I can see that only a few of the other tributes have realized this. The boy from three is panicking, ready to scream.

When I look at Derick, directly across from me, I'm snapped back to reality. He's got a nasty grin on his face, aimed straight at me. If I want to survive, I need to formulate a plan quickly. There are a large number of items strewn around the ground, but if I want to get any of it, I'd have to go into the middle of where everyone will go.

20 seconds to go and I still have no plan. Scarlett, who's three spots over, has her eyes trained on what looks like a water bottle and packed foods tied up in a mesh bag. I'm not worried about food because I definitely remember most of the plants I learned in training. I think.

As the clock ticks down I tense myself. I know what I'm going to do, just run as quickly as I can and grab random items. 5 seconds to go and something explodes, but I don't turn my head. The second the clock hits zero, I sprint off my mark and grab as many things as I can. I turn to run into the rubble surrounding us, and notice some tributes haven't left their marks yet.

A cloud of smoke billows from one of the tribute stations, where we came up into the arena. Someone left their mark early and was blown to bits. My mind goes to the fidgety boy from three, but when I look to my right, he's running away from the circle. Only one person is noticeably missing-Rivera.

A scream pierces the air, and I take off into the rubble. Two loud bangs erupt in the stadium that sound like cannon shots, and I instinctively press myself against the ground. Nothing comes flying through the air though, so I only wait seconds before sprinting for the tree line in the distance.

Just as I enter the forest, another cannon shot rings out. There's no sign of heavy artillery anywhere, though, so I'm massively confused. There's a flicker of red to my right, followed by a crashing noise. Scarlett and Micah.

I follow the red hair that darts under the tree branches a few miles into the woods, and am relieved when they stop. I grabbed too many supplies on my mad dash, but I still carry them until I reach the two tributes.

"Scarlett?" I call softly as I approach them. "Micah? It's Kailaini." They rush out of the underbrush to embrace me. I drop the supplies I grabbed at my feet and hug them tight. "What do you think those canons were?" I ask them.

Scarlett just shrugs, but Micah thinks for a moment. "I heard one right after that person blew up. And after I saw Leida get stabbed, and when Keenan died." I have no clue who Leida and Keenan are, but I can safely assume they were tributes.

"So they mark each death? So we can keep a countdown?" Scarlett says, and Micah nods. "That means four are dead already." We haven't even been in the competition half an hour and several people are dead.

"Let's make sure we're not the next ones," I say. I drop to the ground and begin to rifle through my supplies. "Let's figure out what we have, and then get moving. Did you two manage to get any supplies?" They drop one small backpack and a set of knives on top. I look up at Scarlett. "Didn't manage to get the net bag, huh?" She shakes her head.

"It got blown up with that person."

"That person was Rivera," I explain, and they actually let out a whoop. "Shh. Someone'll find us if weren't not careful."

I quickly determine that we possess more weapons than we could possibly use. I grabbed a bow and arrows, a spear and another set of knives. We decide to bury the bow and arrows so that the other tributes don't get an advantage that way. The backpack was empty, but I had grabbed an empty canteen and some dried fruit back by the cornucopia. I stuff them into the backpack with one of the sets of knives and zip it closed.

"Let's get moving," I say to the two who had silently watched me prepare. Scarlett takes the set of knives, Micah the backpack, and I grab the spear. The forest around us is silent except for the sound of chirping birds, something I find very interesting. We hike another three miles into the forest before setting up camp for the night.

"Do we have enough food?" Micah whispers, rubbing his stomach.

"Enough to get us through the night. Before we do eat though-" I'm cut off by another cannon shot. We look at each other in the fading light, completely jarred. I shake my head to clear it. "Uh, before we eat, I think we should figure a few things out. Who are Keenan and Leida?"

"Keenan was the boy from 3, and Leida was the girl from 8," Scarlett says. She lies down on the ground, and stares at the stars through the trees. "Keenan got killed by the girl from 9, and Derick killed Leida." Of course Derick already has blood on his hands. I shudder as the sun drops below the horizon.

"Then there's Rivera and whoever the other two were," Micah adds. "I wonder if we'll ever figure out who they were." He pulls the dried fruit from the backpack, and gives us each an even amount. It's not even half of the bag, but he has his reasons. "We don't know yet if everything here is poisonous. It could be radioactive too."

I volunteer to keep watch for a few hours, in case some other tributes find us. Only about an hour after the other two fall asleep, the Capitol's anthem blares throughout the arena. Scarlett wakes with a start, and I shake Micah to wake him up.

"Good evening tributes," a voice says from all around us. It's vaguely familiar, but I can't place it. "Every night at this time, there will be a projection showing who was lost that day. Happy Hunger Games." Now I recognize the voice: Eliseo Clemens, the head Gamemaker. A few seconds after his voice has faded, the sky lights up with the National seal of Panem, followed by a picture of Rivera. It's captioned with the words "District 2". Keenan's picture follows, and then a new one pops up. It's a girl with the caption "District 5."

Leida's photo is next up. She was shockingly pretty from what I can see. She had dark skin and cat-like eyes and a heart shaped face. Not that it matters now that she's dead. By Derick's hand. The last photo is the boy from 12, and once he's gone, the sky goes pitch black again except for a few stars.

"19 left," Scarlett says. "How long do you think this thing could last?" Neither Micah nor I respond. The Gamemakers might want to drag out our suffering, or they might want to end us quickly, like they ended thirteen.

Scarlett and Micah settle back down to sleep again while I stare warily at the woods. They rustle with the sounds of forest animals hunting. Back home, the only sound in the night was the waves on shore, or drunken men brawling through the streets.

Off in the distance, on the other side of where I estimate the cornucopia to be, smoke rises from a fire. I wish I had paid more attention at that station, because it's freezing in the woods. The tunic we were given is sleeveless, and no jacket was included for the cold nights.

Another canon shot rings out the forest a few minutes after the smoke first rises and I realize a fire's not a good idea. It discloses your location and makes you a prime target. I know that I should feel bad that another enemy is done for, but I can't help thinking, _6 down…_

Around midnight, I rouse Scarlett to take the next watch. I lie down on my back and stare up at the patch of sky where the pictures of the deceased tributes had appeared. 18 of us are hiding within this forest, and sooner or later, I'm going to have to defend myself or kill someone else. Already I begin to consider leaving Scarlett and Micah, and go for Derick alone.

I think back to the train ride to the Capitol. Sitting on the couch next to Leonel, I had thought fervently that I couldn't kill Micah, or that Basil kid. If I spend all my time defending these two, eventually we'll be forced to kill each other.

I'm too tired to think about what would happen then, so I close my tired eyes, and roll onto my side. Hopefully, Scarlett knows how to use those knives.

Micah wakes me up in the early morning. His stomach growls softly like a young jungle cat, and he asks very politely if he can have some dried fruit.

"I'm not your mother," I responded huffily as a rub the sleep out of my eyes.

"But we are a team," he pouts, taking the fruit out of the backpack again. I roll my eyes at him.

"Where's Scarlett?" I've just noticed her absence from our little campsite. He shrugs as he pops an apple slice into his mouth. "What? You just let her wander off into the woods alone? I thought we were a _team_, Micah." His eyes widen in fear at me. I ignore it and push myself off the ground.

"It's not like she's dead. There hasn't been a canon shot since last night." I didn't know he had heard that one. "She's looking for food somewhere, that's all she told me." There's a set of footprints in the soft dirt that lead away from camp. After packing our supplies again, Micah and I follow them deep into the woods.

Looking carefully at the around, us, I see bushes that have been divested of their fruit. Thankfully, they're all ones that I recognize as being edible. "When did she leave?" I ask Micah.

"Only about ten minutes before I woke you up," he shrugs. "You know, I think we're getting close to the cornucopia again." He's right; I can see the trees thinning ahead of us, so I check Scarlett's footprints again. Now I can tell they're heading on a direct path to the cornucopia.

"Is this girl suicidal?" Micah and I begin to jog lightly towards the edge of the woods. When we're about 10 yards from the tree line when he trips over something, hits the ground and rolls into a tree. I go inspect the object and let out a small scream. "Shit," I murmur, then pull Micah onto his feet.

There's no way to tell if anyone heard us, so we run swiftly towards the tree line, then parallel to it. My eyes flick to the ground to check for any unspeakable horrors like the one Micah had tripped over. No skulls littered the ground here though.

I've completely lost track of Scarlett's footprints, but I realize something as I begin searching for the trail again. If we could easily track Scarlett by using her footprints, then any other tribute could easily do the same to us.

There's no way for us to cover the tracks we made already, and we still need to find Scarlett. From here, I can see the cornucopia glittering in the sunlight amongst the broken down buildings of thirteen.

The justice building is straight ahead, mostly broken down, but parts of it still stand. Scarlett could be hiding anywhere in the ruined city, and I make the decision to go out into the open, hoping that the other victors fled from the area last night.

Micah and I try to step lightly, and near the bases of trees to avoid leaving footprints. The only sound around us in the forest is birds chirping, which confuses me. I thought the bombs and nuclear warheads would have killed them off.

Once we reach the edge of the trees, I crouch low to the ground and Micah copies me. Now that we're almost in the open, I can hear voices coming from somewhere close. The justice building. Obviously, someone has decided to seek shelter inside of it, and they're doing a bad job of keeping a low profile.

The voices coming from the justice building are male, so I resist the temptation to check it out. Scarlett is at the top of our list now, not killing people. After a few minutes of sprinting from building to building I see her. She's sprinting for the tree line, hair whipped back by her speed, arms full of supplies left in the cornucopia.

I'm about to call out her name when the arrow flies from the justice building and catches her in the throat. It's like I'm watching her die in slow motion as she falls, hands going to her throat. Apples fly out of her arms and fall towards the ground. She hits the soft ground and Micah lets out a strangled cry.

My hand slaps over his mouth. The cannon shot rings out and I know she's gone. I sit and watch as the archer leaves the justice building to see who they killed. He has a companion with him, and they joke and laugh as they head towards the body.

I should have known. Derick reaches Scarlett and picks up the food she had with her. Shon seems disappointed about something. Next to me, Micah sniffles a bit, then latches onto my hand. To stop me from going after them.

When Derick and Shon leave the body, I hear a hovercraft fly overhead, low to the ground. It materializes over Scarlett's body, and a claw drops from a small hatch in its underbelly. The prongs encase her, and she's pulled up into it. As the hovercraft flies away, I turn to Micah.

"This is your fault," I hiss. It's a deadly whisper, and he turns pale white. "Get out of my sight." I grab the backpack and throw the dried fruit at him. "Good luck out there."

"Wait!" He wails as I run away from him. As angry at him as I am, I don't want him dead too. I whip around.

"Shh! Do you want them to hear you? If you do, I can just call them now." It's an empty threat, and he should know that, but he whimpers. "Grow up Micah."

"Why don't you just kill me?" His eyes are tearing up fast. "I'm not going to win anyway. Just do it." I shake my head, and leave him behind. I have nothing to do with myself but stay alive, and I'm already feeling remorse for what I said to him.

Once I'm safely out of Micah's sight, I collapse onto the ground. I don't know how well the Hunger Games are working to break the spirit in the districts, but I'm done. Angrily, I pick up a rock from the forest floor and throw it at a tree.

It hits the trunk with a loud clatter, waking me out of my angry delirium. Someone in the arena could have easily heard me, so I begin to hike into the forest again. There are no other tributes around, so the arena must be pretty big. It can't be the size of all of thirteen though. 13 was a massive district because the graphite mines stretched up and down the coast.

District thirteen is a lovely place. Oak trees soar fifty feet into the air, stretching their long limbs out. The light that filters through the leaves is a pale green. This place seems like a magical forest, a safe haven. Except for the little fact that there are 17 people hidden among the branches that want to kill me, I could have enjoyed my time here.

Four miles into the woods, I come across a little shack, undisturbed by the bombs. It's so out of place in both the forest and district 13 that I'm sure it's a trick. The Gamemakers control every little piece of this arena. Instead of going into the shack, I set up camp in some bushes a few yards away. Eventually, someone will fall for the trap, whether it's the Gamemakers or my own, and I'll have one less competitor.

Luckily for me, a stream flows past behind the shack. I drink straight from the water, and fill the canteen. No one ever got dehydrated in four because of the dozens of rivers cutting across the land, and I don't really want to experience it. The banks of the stream are lined by bright yellow flowers, and again I'm struck by how absolutely beautiful this place is. But beauty can be deceiving.

No one enters my line of vision all day. The sky begins to turn purple and black, and the Capitol anthem blares across the treetops. I'm not prepared for seeing Scarlett's face among the stars, and watch through my tears. It's amazing how much of an impact she had on me in the week that I knew her. The other death from the day was the girl from 7.

As the light fades from the sky, I hear rustling in the woods. I'm hoping it's some small game, because I gave Micah all the food we had. Spear grasped in my hand, I crouch down and hide in the shadows. It's not a rabbit though, it's much bigger prey—another tribute.

It's too dark to tell who they are, but it doesn't matter. I'll have to kill someone eventually. The tribute doesn't think twice before entering the cabin. I wait a few minutes to see if it the cabin was really a trap from the Gamemakers, but nothing happens. It's up to me now.

I give the other tribute a few hours, just to make sure they're asleep, then I start pulling down small branches. Each branch makes a loud snap when it's pulled down, but all I can do is hope that the other tribute is a heavy sleeper.

I surround the shack with the leafy branches, piling them high around the door. The sound of gentle snoring escapes through the cracks under the doors. I remember yelling at Leonel for not caring about human life, and realize what I'm about to do.

"Stop thinking," I whisper to myself. It takes a while to get a spark from the sticks I rub together, but when it catches, the flames are strong. The heat licks my face gently, and I lay the sticks carefully on top of the branches I organized. The fire catches quickly, sending up plumes of dark smoke in the night sky. If the fire and smoke doesn't kill this tribute, someone else seeing the smoke will.

Knowing that other tributes, possibly even Derick, will show up soon, I run for the safety of the forest, away from the smell of burning wood, and the scream that pierces the air.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: A big thank you to everyone reading this and reviewing. You have no idea how much time I've spent researching survival skills for this fic. Remember to review and vote on my poll on my profile page! **

I run for about a mile, and then climb into a tree to await the canon. From up in the tree, I can see the plume of smoke twirling into the sky. There's no way that the other tributes missed it, and that means there's no way my victim survived.

When the canon shot finally comes, dawn is breaking over thirteen. The hovercraft comes swiftly, bravely reaching through the smoke for the body. I realize it's the first time I've killed someone. _First time. _Implying that there will be more. Disgusted with myself, I throw up into the bushes under the tree.

When I was younger, I thought that all the Capitol citizens were pretty, glittering, fools. During the Dark Days I began to believe they were just fools. Now I see just how terribly clever they all are. At least the Gamemakers. Georgianna is living proof that they're not all that smart.

But by putting me in the arena, the Gamemakers have placed me on the tip of a double-edged sword. I don't want to kill anyone and I want to live. But I can't live if I don't kill at least one more person. My head spins, but it's not like there's really more than one option left to me.

I could be nice up until the very end, and just try my best to kill my final competitor. But that could take weeks, and I don't have the patience to stay in the arena that long. I have to speed things up a bit, and I have to learn to hunt.

Carefully, I begin to climb further into the tree, just to see if anyone is out in the open. No one is stupid enough to go out into the clearing since Scarlett died. Even if someone was, Derick and Shon could easily take them out. Most of the land around me is trees up trees. In the area around the cornucopia there are plenty of buildings and rubble, but there's no movement down there.

Across from me, a single path winds away from the village. I'm puzzling over where it leads when I realize I haven't seen the mines yet. Thirteen was the graphite mining industry in Panem, and I don't really think the Capitol would have bombed them. Mines, with their confusing passageways, would make an excellent hiding place.

Climbing out of the tree is harder than climbing up but I somehow manage it. Considering how obviously dangerous it is to cross through the former city, I begin to make my way through the forest, going around the ruins. It's a circuitous trek that takes two hours to complete. Taking the path directly might be equal to suicide, so I follow it at a parallel, safely hidden amongst the foliage.

I've never actually seen a mine in person. Back a few years ago, the Capitol ran a series that showed each District's main industry, but they only showed the graphite processing centers in thirteen, not the mines. One worker had explained that the mines were built deep into the ground, and that workers used explosives to blast the graphite out of the ground.

The trees begin to thin out and I can see bright sunlight streaming down ahead. The entrance to the mine is a gaping hole in the side of a large hill. No one is in sight, but there's always the possibility of someone hiding among the trees, like I am. I pick up a rock and throw it against the stones in front of the mine. Nothing.

I sprint to the hillside, and flatten myself against the wooden beams that stand along the entrance. No one runs out of the woods to attack me and I breathe a sigh of relief. No light's coming from the mine. If anyone is hiding out in there, it's going to be impossible to find them. Awesome.

I inch into the mines slowly. Staying out there would be suicide. I sink onto the floor of the mine to think. There has to be a way to get them out.

I think for hours until my stomach growls. The sound echoes into the tunnels and the solution hits me.

From what I saw of the chaos on the cornucopia, not that many people managed to get food. Eventually, anyone hiding inside the mines will have to go and search for food. And I will be here, waiting patiently, spear in hand.

I go outside of the mines for a few minutes, just to gather some of the berries that grow in abundance here. I only recognize the blackberries as being edible, and gather up several handfuls, storing the berries in the backpack. The juice stains my fingers light purple.

Instinctively, I smear the dye down my nose in a long strip. I laugh, because back in school, the boys in my class would paint their faces and dance around like fools. We had learned about these ancient people called "Native Americans," who had been around long before Panem. My teacher said they wore something called "war paint" as a mark of bravery.

Not that I've been all that brave. I rub as much of the juice off of my face as possible, and head back to the mine entrance to enjoy my small dinner. The days go by very quickly when there's a chance you could die at any minute. I'm surprised to see the sun sinking lower in the sky, and realize with a start that the dead tribute will soon be shown in the sky.

The people hiding in the mine might want to see the show too…I grab my bag and head for the woods just as the anthem comes on. Again I hide among the trees, watching the cave's entrance. Three people emerge slowly to the edge of the mine just as a picture is flashed into the sky. I take aim with me spear, and I'm about to throw it when I hear one of them gasp.

"Who would do that?" It's a female voice. Delphia. "If I find out, I'm going to kill them." I look into the sky right before the picture fades away.

Basil Wick. The twelve year old from 9 that I swore I would never kill. And when I killed him, he suffered. I'm a monster.

But there's no going back now. He's dead and gone, just like Scarlett. Just like I'll be if I don't kill Delphia and her allies. One breath at a time. Delphia sinks to the ground, sobbing. It's weird seeing the connections that the other tributes from the same district have with each other. Obviously, Derick and I have never cared about each other that way.

Another breath and I let the spear fly. They don't see it coming; they're too wrapped up in sorrow. The tip of the spear sinks itself into Delphia's skull. The canon booms immediately. Her companions begin to panic. They have no clue where spear came flying from. I seize the moment, and whip a knife out of the backpack.

For some reason, the two don't retreat into the mines. They cling to each other, searching the forest with their eyes. I guess our survival training didn't stick too well for some people. That or they're the biggest idiots in the arena. Either way, it's easy pickings.

Since randomly throwing knives worked out so well for me before, I decide to try that before rushing into hand to hand combat. It's a good, strong throw, but it's about ten feet off target. This time, the two see where the weapon came from, and flee in the opposite direction.

"Come on!" I scream to no one, and sprint off after them just as the hovercraft materializes to take Delphia's body home. By now, I can tell my would-be victims aren't too bright. They crash through the underbrush, and I'd bet anything that Shon and Derick, nearly two miles away, can hear them.

I grab the backpack and sprint after them. There are broken branches and trampled plants everywhere that clearly mark the path they took—a path that leads straight for the cornucopia.

I'm almost at the ruined city when the first cannon shot rings out. Rather than running into the fray myself, I climb into a nearby tree to watch the fireworks. In front of the golden cornucopia, two hulking masses run towards a small boy. Derick slashes a menacing knife through the air and the small boy's head flies away.

It's a horrifying sight. The cannon blast comes quickly, but the boy's body still stands in front of Derick. Blood leaks from the stump that was formerly the boy's neck, and his killer slowly backs up. Shon stands stock-still as the hovercraft begins to descend towards the scene. Finally, as the hovercraft lowers its claw to collect the body, Derick's victim falls to the ground, staining his killer's shoes with bloods.

Shon turns and runs back towards the Justice Building. Even from my vantage point you can see that the former tough boy from district two is pale and shaking. Derick stays in the same spot, and turns to staring up at the sky, as though he expects something to drop out of it. And something does.

A small silver parachute materializes from the sky and floats gently down to the murderous boy. As soon as it comes in range, he jumps lightly and catches it. I had entirely forgotten about the sponsors and the gifts they could send. Derick probably gets something every time he murders someone. I guess I haven't killed enough people to earn the same honor. That or my sponsors don't have enough money to send me anything.

Derick walks slowly back towards the justice building, completely unconcerned that he's a prime target for anyone hiding in the woods. He kicks aside rubble as he walks to his makeshift home.

I climb down from the tree carefully. Now that the mines are abandoned, I can use them for shelter tonight. In less than 24 hours, I've gotten rid of four people who stood in my way to getting home. I'm pretty pleased with myself.

The knife I threw at the two nameless tributes is still stuck into the rocks by the mines. I try and pull it out, but it won't budge an inch. I actually fall onto my rear end after one tug. Must make a good show for the viewers at home. Unfortunately, my spear went with Delphia's body to district 9, so I have to make do with only my knives.

I slowly creep into the mine's entrance, feeling my way along to walls. There's no telling how many tunnels there are, where they branch off, or even how deep into the hills they go. I'm only a few yards in when I hear voices ricocheting off the walls.

"Where are they?" The first voice asks. It's female. "I think I heard a couple cannon shots." Whoever it is, they're coming closer.

"Maybe they got someone else," another voice says, male this time. "Delphia and Brice are tough. Nothing happened to them." I freeze against the wall. Hearing the names of the people I killed and watched die sticks into my gut like a knife. The footsteps approach quickly, and I make a snap decision.

"Hello?" I call into the darkness, and the footsteps stop only feet from me. "Hello? Who's there?" I try and sound as fearful as I can. Only the sound of breathing breaks the silence. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise," I lie to the still air.

"Tell us who you are first." The male voice says. I imagine him stepping protectively in front of the girl. Unfortunately, chivalry gets you nothing but a dirt nap in the hunger games.

"It's Kailaini, from four." The soft whisper echoes through the tunnels. "I'm so sorry. I just saw Derick kill three people, and I just ran here. I thought no one would hide here."

Someone walks slowly towards me. I'm surprised to see, in the faint light, that it's the girl from ten. Her face shines oddly in the dying light, but I can't tell why. She reaches out through the dark and finds my hand. "Three people?" Her voice is a jagged whisper that barley holds back a flood of tears.

"Yes. Three." I say. "One boy, two girls. Out by the cornucopia."

"What would they have been doing out there?" The boy wonders aloud. It might be the boy from ten, but I have no clue. I didn't pay any particular attention to voices in the training center. "Do you know?" He asks me.

"I don't know. I can't talk about it now. It was so terrible," I let out a false sob. "I'm so scared! Is there anyone else in here, with you?"

"No." the girl lets go of my hand. "Do you want to stay with us tonight?" I nod fervently, then realize they probably can't see me that well with the moon to my back.

"Yes, thank you." The girl grabs my hand again and begins to lead me towards their camp. "What are your names?"

"I'm Lehma," The girl says. "And he's Vee." It's surprising how strange the names from other districts are. Their camp isn't far into the mines. It consists of a small pile of supplies and the embers left from a fire.

We sit against the walls, which are cold and strangely soft. "So, can you tell us what happened?" Vee asks. "Where's Derick?" He hasn't given me enough time to come up with a good story, so I just sit in silence. "Hello? Anyone home?"

"Sorry. I just keep seeing it again and again." They wait patiently for my 'waking nightmare' to fade. I take a deep breath and start weaving my tale. "I've been keeping up in the trees as much as possible, because Derick doesn't know how to climb them. I was up in one watching the dead tribute thing when the boy—you said his name was Brice, right?—well, he came stomping out to the cornucopia.

"The two girls were behind him. One of them was crying. Derick and the boy from two, Shon, just ran out at them." I look up at my companions. Lehma's making quiet sobbing sounds. Vee's just watching me silently. The light from the dying embers plays across his dark eyes, and I fear him. "I don't think they suffered that long."

"But one of the cannons went off almost half an hour before the others. How do you explain that?" Vee hisses in the darkness. I can tell I'm going to need to get rid of him quick.

"All I know is what I saw. Maybe you heard something falling in here," I toss back at him. He and Lehma are silent for a few minutes. It gives me time to think of what I'm going to do with them. Vee's too suspicious to team up with, and Lehma could fall apart at any moment. But I'm not going to do anything with them for now. They might be good bait for Derick.

"How about I take the first watch?" Lehma pipes up. I don't say anything; just lay down against the wall. I'm not stupid enough to sleep. Neither of them has given me a reason to trust them. Even though Lehma doesn't seem the type to kill someone in their sleep, but it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for.

The hours until dawn pass by slowly. Lehma taps her foot against the wall and sings softly to herself. I have a knife in my hand, pressed against the floor of the tunnel. Vee's breathing comes soft and even, and I'm sure he's asleep. It would have been easy to slit his throat if Lehma wasn't here.

A few hours before the sun comes up, Lehma wakes Vee up to take the watch, and settles down for a few hours. I guess they don't trust me either. When the sun finally does rise, I offer to find some food since they've run out of their meager supplies. Vee follows me out, saying that two sets of hands would make the job go much quicker.

He watches me as I pull berries from the bushes around the mines. "Shouldn't you be helping me? Or at the very least watching out for other tributes?" I ask calmly, piling berries into my backpack.

"I didn't check out the edible plant station in training," he says. It gives me an idea.

"Lucky for you, I did." I pick a dark purple berry from the pile in my bag, and hold it out to him. He takes it with a suspicious look in his eyes.

"And why should I trust you that this is safe?" He says as he rolls the berry between his fingers. "I still don't believe your little story from last night." Well, he's got me there.

"Maybe that's the exact reason you should trust me. And that's just a blackberry." I pop one into my mouth, and after a moment, he does the same. "Do you know if there's a stream around here? We'll need some water."

"I can go and look for one." He begins to walk into the woods, and I call to him.

"Watch your back," he looks back at me. "We can't afford to lose you." He keeps walking away, and I quickly grab my canteen from underneath he pile of berries in the backpack. I dump the water out of it before he comes back. I can hear him stumbling back through the woods even now.

"There's a stream right through the woods here," he says. I smile up at him.

"Great. I have a water bottle, but it's empty." I demonstrate for him, flipping the canteen upside down. "You wouldn't mind watching the berries for a second, would you?" I stand up and head into the woods. I fill the canteen quickly, and then look around the banks of the creek. A bush of dark red berries that I don't recognize stands on the edge of the water. I don't recognize the berries, and hope that they're poisonous enough. I grab a few, and split one in half and coat the mouth of the canteen with the dark juice. Even if they're not poisonous, I can just say I recognized the berries and wanted to flavor the water.

I jog through the woods back to Vee to make up for lost time. As I come into his line of sight, I pretend to sip from the bottle. He zips up the backpack and waits for me by the entrance. I hand him the water bottle and he takes a long draught.

"This tastes disgusting," he complains, pulling a face.

"Hey, the stream has dirt in it. Not my problem." I push ahead of him and down the tunnel.

"It doesn't taste dirty. It tastes sweet." But he takes another sip. We're nearly back to Lehma when he begins to gag, and clutches at his throat. "What did you do to this water?" He hisses in a rasping voice.

"I didn't do anything to the water," I say honestly. I stare into his eyes as the light fades out of them and he collapses to the ground. The cannon shot rings out, clear even in the cave. I begin to scream, and Lehma comes running from our camp.

"What's wrong?" She yells as she comes into view. Her eyes go from my face to Vee's body lying on the floor. "What happened to him?" Her skin goes almost as pale as his, and she drops down on her knees next to him.

"I-I don't know!" I scream back. Hopefully I sound scared enough. "He was just eating berries earlier, and I don't know which ones he ate! I only picked blackberries!" I kneel down next to her. "I'm so sorry Lehma. I left him alone for a minute. He must have eaten something poisonous out there." She looks into my eyes, which are filled with tears.

"I believe you," she whispers. She's too trusting for her own good.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hello my dear faithful readers! After this chapter, I'm going to be publishing a lot less often because spring break is over . But never fear! Kailaini's story will be finished, possibly by mid-May even!**

"I'm not sure if it's safe to be here anymore," I tell Lehma that night. She hasn't spoken since I convinced her to leave Vee's body in the tunnel so that the gamemakers could collect it. Her brown eyes flick up momentarily to meet mine, but then they find the floor again. "How long have you known Vee?" I ask her.

"Only since the reaping," she says softly. "He wasn't the nicest guy, but he was the only piece of home I had left." Her eyes meet mine again. Again, tears line her eyes, ready to spill.

"You couldn't both live." I tell her. She just shrugs. "Okay. We'll talk about something else." No response, so I just start talking. "I was terrified of the arena when I first saw it. But now I don't think that this is really thirteen." That gets her attention.

"Why not? It seems so…real." Her voice still wavers slightly with emotion, but she seems to be truly listening.

"It's too normal," I explain. I've been noticing the strange quirks of this place since the day we arrived. "Well, most obviously, none of the buildings are smoking like the newscasts show. The birds are still chirping, which I don't think would still be happening after nuclear attack. I mean, just the fact that we're alive is a pretty big clue." She nods.

"Yeah, I've noticed some of the same things." Lehma says. "There are no bones in the mines, and the news said that the attack happened at mid-day. There should have been people in here." I nod fervently.

"I wonder if the people at home know that this is a fake thirteen. If they don't you can guarantee that the cameras aren't looking at us now," I laugh harshly. "Wouldn't want to ruin it for the audience. But seriously, I think we should leave. We could get trapped in here easily." Lehma gets up and extends a hand to me.

The fire left a dark circle of embers on the ground that I try to rub out with my shoe. The ashes scatter slightly, but it's still obvious that someone's been here. Before we leave, I pull out two knives from the backpack. There's only a few left from the impressive arsenal I had on day one. One of the sets left the arena with Scarlett's body.

"So, where are we going?" Lehma asks as she accepts a knife. The sun is climbing steadily higher in the sky, nearing the crest of its journey.

"I think that we need to begin planning Derick's death," I say, and turn my head to look at her. She doesn't seem averse to it. Derick and Shon have always been the biggest threat in the arena, and no one else has made a move towards eliminating them. "Let's go to the city and climb some trees."

I take the lead, walking through the woods parallel to the road. We climb high into the trees, and are able to view the whole arena. Nothing moves in the forests beneath us, and the sky is a beautiful shade of blue. It reminds me of the days when the whole family would spend time on the beach. Dad wasn't home often because of his job, so when he did get time off, we really lived it up.

He'd buy a mess of clams and we'd sit all day on the shore, prying open the shells and eating the raw meat within. Mom thought we'd all get food poisoning and die. Khalia and I did get food poisoning a fair few times, but we obviously survived.

"I'm kinda hungry," Lehma says. She's been hugging the tree trunk the whole time. I laugh at her.

"No trees in ten?" I joke as I pass her the backpack. "All that's in there are blackberries, I promise." The reminder of Vee hangs heavily in the air, but she still responds.

"There were some trees, but it's mostly grasslands at home. For all the livestock to graze." She pops a few berries into her mouth. "When I was about four years old, I fell out of a tree. I was only about five feet off the ground, but it scared me off of them for years."

"Things from when you're young can be pretty traumatizing," I agree. "When I was little, Derick would attack me with lobsters that his dad caught. Now I can't stand them, or crabs." I stare out towards the justice building where Derick hides now. "I hate him."

Lehma doesn't respond, and we spend several minutes in silence. She passes the backpack to me and I grab a few berries. Shon steps out of the justice building, and I tense on my branch. Derick doesn't follow him though. Strangely, Shon just paces back and forth on the top step before walking back in. Lehma looks at me and raises an eyebrow. I just shrug.

We wait another hour in the tree until I get thirsty. The gamemakers took the poisoned canteen with them when they collected Vee's body, so I'm forced to get down from the tree. Though it's not like I would have dared drink from the water bottle ever again.

After Lehma promises to be careful, and watch for Derick, I climb down. Streams crisscross the landscape everywhere, so it doesn't take long for me to find one. I sit on the ground next to the stream after taking a long drink. My strength has been draining slowly since the first day because of the lack of real food. Maybe sometime tonight I can convince Lehma to try and hunt.

When I get up, I see something strange across from me, and scramble to find cover. Someone screams and the cannon booms. More sounds come from across the stream, the sound of someone fleeing, and I try to stay as inconspicuous as possible. The girl from 12 sprints past me, covered in blood. That makes one person that wasn't killed by me, Derick, or Shon. Only eleven tributes are left, and they're going fast.

Once I'm sure the girl from 12 is gone, I run noisily through the woods for Lehma's tree. The loud hum coming from a descending hovercraft gives me cover. When I reach the top, she clings to me.

"I thought it was you!" She says. "Did you see anything? It was so close…" She looks at me for answers, but I'm still trying to catch my breath.

"I don't know who died, but the girl from twelve killed them," I huff. "I don't know how she did it. They were right across the stream though. I hid just in time." I try and balance a bit more securely on my branch. "Anything happen down there?" She shakes her head.

"No. They just stay in the Justice Building all the time." She scrunches her face up in concentration. "I wonder if they have enough supplies to just stay there. Until the end." I snort in laughter.

"I can guarantee you that they don't. Not with how much Derick eats." What she said got me thinking though. "One of them is going to snap eventually. Who do you think will go first?"

"I can't even imagine that," she says. "I haven't actually met either of them. Do you think Derick's the type to kill his allies?" Well, that makes it obvious that she hasn't met him.

"He's the type. Probably wouldn't think twice about it if it meant he got to make someone suffer." I kick the tree. "He would kill his own sister." I turn to see her making a horrified face. Everyone but me has underestimated Derick. Then again, they've never seen him strangle a cat, or kick a toddler on the playground. That doesn't sound too bad, unless you know he was 17 when it happened, and the kid has a strange bend to his arm because the bones didn't set properly. "Don't worry about it," I reassure Lehma. "I'm going to get him."

"How did you meet him?" She asks me. I stare intently at the justice building as I answer her.

"His family's lived next door my whole life. Our dads used to work on the same trawler until my both of them got promoted to different jobs. His sister is my best friend." I think of Demetra and the promise I made her for the first time since I entered the arena. Maybe she's watching me now, on her family's little television, and hating me.

"Was he ever a nice guy?" Why does she care?

"Not that I've seen," I say shortly. Finally, she shuts up and watches the city with me. At one point, she begins to eat the berries again, the juice dribbling lightly down her chin. Maybe we can avoid leaving the tree for water, at least for a little while.

I'm beginning to wonder where everyone else is. We only know the exact locations of four people- us and Derick and Shon. For all I know, someone waits in bush below the tree, waiting for us to come down so they can pick us off easily. I really need to stop thinking about that sort of thing.

It takes the sound of the anthem for Derick and Shon to come out of the justice building. There have been plenty of deaths today, so it's going to be a nice, long show.

The first image is the boy from five. "Guess we know who twelve got," Lehma whispers into the chilly air. After five comes the female from 6. Now _I_ know who Derick's other victim was. Her male counterpart, Brice, comes on next, followed by Delphia. I turn to look at Lehma as Vee's photo is projected onto the ceiling of the arena. Tears leak slowly down her face and she hugs herself tightly.

I feel bad for her, but only slightly. She has no one that she can blame for her friend's death. I can lay the blame on Micah all I want, but she Lehma probably feels guilt that she wasn't there to stop Vee from eating those berries. There's no way I'm going to tell her the truth though. She could just push me out of the tree. Heck, I'd push her out of the tree if I didn't need her to bait Derick.

"There's no possible way we can sleep in the tree, is there?" Lehma asks, jolting me out of my reverie.

"Nope, we'd probably fall to our deaths," I say cheerfully, and begin to climb down from the tree. I do a quick search of the bushes for hidden assassins and find none. Lehma lands lightly on the ground next to me.

"What are you looking for," she asks me. I shake my head.

"Nothing. Just checking. For things." I sling the backpack on and stretch. "You know, I think we'd be safe hiding in the city tonight. Derick and Shon aren't going to leave their little palace, and everyone else is too scared to be in their line of vision."

It's a short trek to the ruined city, where quite a few buildings look stable enough to stay in. I pick one that still has a working door and no bones inside of it. I don't know if it's true for all of the houses in 13 (Fake 13 at least), but the fictitious residents lived large compared to everyone in four. Only the mayor had a house this large.

Lehma's amazed by the amount of trouble the gamemakers took in decorating the houses. There's a fine layer of dust coating nearly everything in the house, including the little trinkets that have been set up in the house.

"I wonder how much this stuff cost," I say to Lehma. It's quality stuff—the necklace I find in the largest bedroom looks like it's made of real diamonds—not that I've ever seen real diamonds before. We let loose, jumping on the soft beds, and trying on the fancy clothing in the closets. "Think this was the mayor's house?" I ask as I examine a fine painting of a field. Lehma shrugs.

"Who knows?" She says, and runs her hands over the bedspread. "Gosh this is soft. I think I'm going to sleep." I say goodnight, then go to begin the watch, wandering the house. The roof in the smallest bedroom has collapsed in, but underneath the rubble is bed and toys. I shake my head at the lengths the Capitol will go to just to convince people that we're in 13.

Downstairs is a room that runs the full length of the house. This side of the house looks towards the Justice Building, and I'm shocked to see lights in the broken building. What the hell has Leonel been sending them? I doubt that they started a fire in there.

"Cool Leonel," I whisper to the ceiling, hoping a camera has found me. "Play favorites." I'm rewarded by a silver parachute that drops down outside of the window I'm at. I reach out the window and catch it. The package tied to it is lightweight and I rip it open quickly. Inside are a couple strips of beef jerky. "Thanks. This is definitely going to help me beat Derick," I say sarcastically to the ceiling.

Still, it's something. I rush upstairs and pounce on Lehma's bed. I clap my hand over her mouth before she can scream and call Derick to kill us. "Shh, it's only me," I hiss. "Look what I got!" I hold a strip of jerky out to her. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and grabs it.

"Did you seriously wake me up to shove beef jerky in my face?" She growls. I narrow my eyes.

"I just thought you might want to eat something substantial. But fine, if you don't want it, I can just eat it all," I tease, tearing off the end of another piece of jerky.

"I didn't say I didn't want it," she shrieks and grabs the jerky from my hands. "Now go away. I need to sleep."

She's gotten full of herself. Maybe she's forgotten that only one person can leave the arena alive, but I haven't. She's disposable.

A few hours later, I wake her up for good and take my turn sleeping. It's the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in, and it's easily ten times better than my waterbed in the Capitol. When I sleep, I have a strange dream.

I'm swimming towards the shore at home, but the water's not the calm blue-grey that I'm used to. I mean, it starts out that way, but as I get closer to shore, it begins to shift to pink and then red. When waves splash my face, the metallic taste of blood burns my tongue. When I finally drag myself on shore, I see the blood is leaking into the water from all the tributes I've killed so far.

I go down the line of bodies, blood dripping onto the sand from my clothes. The last body I come to is Lehma's. I'm shocked to see her lying on the shore, but not saddened at all. Then Derick appears out of thin air, holding the head of the boy from district 6 that he beheaded. I wake with a scream building in my throat just as the sun breaks over the hillside.

I run into the bathroom downstairs and throw up into the toilet. Of course, when I try to flush it away, the toilet doesn't do anything. There's no working plumbing in a ghost town. Lehma comes into the bathroom and stands at the doorway.

"You okay?" She asks. I don't even know. She walks over to me and places a hand on my head.

"Just a bad dream," I explain, and push her hand off my head. "I want to go find others." I tell her.

"And by that you mean?" She asks. It's like she's a child. I look into the cracked mirror hanging above the dusty sink and stare at myself for a moment. How strange. I don't look like a killer. I do look like a homeless person though. My hair hangs down my shoulders in knots and the sheen is gone from the black color. Dirt covers nearly every inch of my exposed body. First chance I get, I'm going to take a quick dip in some stream.

"By that I mean we're going to have to kill people Lehma." I rub at my nose. In the mirror I can see that the berry juice hasn't disappeared entirely from my face. It's dried onto my nose until I can get some soap and warm water, though. "We can't all win this thing." I push past her.

"Why can't we just leave it up to Derick and Shon?" Oh man. Maybe she is really a child.

"They haven't been doing a very good job lately, now have they?" I snap back. "Sure, they killed two people yesterday, but that's because your friends ran straight into their hands! There's no way that anyone else will be stupid enough to do that!"

"Fine." Tears are streaming silently down her face, but I could care less. I find the backpack waiting upstairs and throw the beef jerky in. Lehma's waiting by the door for me with a trembling lower lip. The sooner I can be done with her, the better.

We stick to the outer edges of the city, well out of sight of Derick and Shon until we pick a place to enter into the forest. We climb over trees for over an hour in silence, stopping every few minutes to listen for other tributes. Nothing makes a sound but us in this part of the woods. I haven't been here yet. It doesn't take long for me to realize that something's wrong here. No birds are chirping like they had everywhere else. I slow Lehma down and tell her my fear.

We begin to cut a path straight to our right, but it's too late. We've walked right into some clever tributes ambush, and I'm trying to think of a way out when they attack.

Well they don't really attack. There's a loud rustling noise, and three people leap out of the bushes at us, weapons raised. I don't recognize the first boy, but I think he might be from 11. I recognize the girl immediately from the video of the reapings, when Derick laughed at her. Leonel said to not underestimate the tributes from three, but I don't know how I could ever take her seriously. A pair of glasses, one of the lenses broken, clings loosely to her nose and she has to push them up every few seconds.

The last member of their group is another boy, scrawny as ever. He seems just as surprised to see me as I am to see him. However, I just smile at him, stretching my lips into a horrible grimace. I drop my knife on the ground and speak directly to him.

"You're not really going to kill me, now are you?" I say in a sickly sweet whisper. "I'm not the one who killed Scarlett, now am I, Micah?"


	9. Chapter 9

And Micah stands still, staring me straight in the eye. I know I hit a sore spot by mentioning Scarlett's name. Now that I've dropped my only defense, all I can hope is that he's still as weak willed as before. Lehma's looking back and forth between Micah and me, obviously confused. If the other tributes don't understand, they don't show it.

"It was an accident," Micah whispers, but he's losing his grip on the spear he holds. My smile recedes slightly.

"Micah, don't lie to yourself," I say quietly. I take a step towards him and he stumbles back. "You knew what this was. You knew you couldn't win if she lived." The color disappears from his skin.

"That's not what happened," he whimpers. The spear drops to the forest floor soundlessly, and one of his allies rushes to pick it up. I wonder why they haven't attacked, because I'm defenseless. Guess it's a good show. The Capitol must be happy with this too.

"What did I just tell you about lying?" I ask him. He begins to speak, but I hold up a hand to stop him. "That was rhetorical, Micah. I wonder—have you told your friends what you did? Did you tell them why they shouldn't trust you?" Finally, one of his friends gets fed up.

"What are you talking about?" The girl from three hisses. She turns to Micah. "What is she talking about Micah? Wasn't Scarlett the girl from your district?" Micah gulps, eyes still locked on me, and doesn't answer her.

"Sweetheart, the last time Micah made an alliance with anyone, he sold them to Derick and Shon, the boys from the Justice Building," I explain, looking around at everyone else. Everyone but Micah is shocked by the words I've just uttered. "I know, he doesn't seem the type, does he? But it's the quiet ones you have to watch out for."

The boy from 11 turns to Micah. "Is that true?" He says, quietly at first. When Micah doesn't respond, he begins to yell. "Micah! Is what she said true?"

"It didn't happen like that, I swear! I didn't mean for her to die!" Micah cries out, and tries to hug the girl from three. She backs away with a disgusted look on her face.

"Just answer one question truthfully," I say. "Is it, or is it not your fault that Scarlett is dead?" It's a master stroke. Micah looks at the ground before conceding.

"It's all my fault." He looks up at me. There's silence all around us, then Lehma makes her move. She runs at the girl from three, and slashes her throat. The cannon shot echoes around the stadium as the boy from eleven attacks Lehma, thrusting a spear into her thigh. Swiftly, I grab my knife from the forest floor, and turn to throw it at Micah. He's gone, streaking off through the trees and out of my grasp.

In my rage, I slash at the boy from eleven, but he has the weight advantage. He pins me to the ground, and I'm sure that I'm drawing my final breath as he pulls the spear from Lehma's leg. She screams and the sound nearly bursts my eardrums. Eleven claps a hand over one ear in a futile attempt to block the noise out and I take my chance.

I thrust my knee upward, and his loud groan tells me I've hit my mark. Using all the strength I have, I try and push him off, but he's recovered quickly. He lowers the tip of the spear to my face and a grin spreads across his face. It's a shame, really, that his is the last face I'll ever see. He's got a big, ugly nose and his eyes are too close together.

Just as the spear touches my face and breaks the skin, Lehma saves me. She throws her feeble body across his, and wrests the spear from his hands. I pull myself up on my feet and kick his face. Lehma has the spear in her hands, but blood is flowing freely from her leg, and he's gaining some control back.

I end it quickly, stomping down on his face. On the bright side, the bloody mess is an improvement from what he used to look like. A soon as the cannon booms, I grab Lehma under the shoulders and drag her away from the body. The hovercraft descends and grabs both the bodies with one claw and pulls them into the sky.

Lehma's face is pale from blood loss. She's making a small groaning noise and winces every few seconds.

"You can't die on me now," I whisper. There's nothing that I can possibly do to stop her from dying, though, because of the lack of supplies and the very small amount of medical training I have. The spear went about an inch into her leg, and thankfully it wasn't close to the bone. "You're going to live, I promise."

In this immediate moment of panic, I'm reminded of home. Back before the dark days, there was pretty good routes of communication in between the districts, so we could hear what the others thought of us. Turns out, everyone else thinks life in four is pretty sweet. One man from district one came regularly to the ports to check the quality of the pearls we managed to find. He told us how the other districts thought we got off easy, living in a little piece of paradise.

People from the poorer districts were jealous of our food supply. In twelve, food was hard to come by, and they thought we took whatever fish we wanted. The people from dangerous districts, like seven, where a tree could kill a whole team of lumber jacks, thought we were safe from danger.

Maybe we weren't constantly starving, and maybe we did have a better chance of survival than some others, but life wasn't easy for us. Men would be away at sea for months at a time, crossing the expanding oceans to look for rare types of fish. More often than not, they made it home safely. But there were quite a few years when a storm blew up from the south and took a boat under the waves. Even at home, in our boarded up house, the wind howled like a banshee screaming. One year the rain filled the streets, and slowly leaked under the doors, ruining our every possession. The shacks on the outskirts of town washed away down the streets sometimes, taking the poor souls inside with them.

There were plenty of accidents with fish hooks and spears too, but I usually fled the scene before I could see how they took care of it. Demetra's uncle once got hooked through the neck with a heavy-weight hook, the kind the fishermen use for catching sharks. He was out one week searching for the big fish because demand had sky-rocketed in the Capitol for shark fin soup. When one of his crewmates was un-knotting one of the industrial poles reel, he accidently let go of the hammer when Demetra's uncle was walking underneath.

From what Demetra's told me, fishermen aren't the best healers, and they came back to shore as quick as possible with him. It was a lost cause though. When a hook that big gets you through the throat, there's no going back. If they pulled it all the way through, the skin on his neck would most likely break. They couldn't go backwards because of the barb. While the doctors fought over treatment, Dem's uncle lost too much blood and died right where they left him on the docks.

A small moan from Lehma brings me back to the here and now. It's still the Hunger Games, and I'm still in the arena, where 9 people hide waiting to kill me. No present from a sponsor drops from the sky for either me or Lehma. I look around me desperately for something to stop the bleeding. Tall grasses poke up feebly from the ground around the trees, and I grab a handful. It'll have to do for bandages now, and I think I can weave them into something useful.

Wrong. The grasses slide form under each other and my bandage falls to pieces in my hands. Lehma's watching me, sweat beading on her forehead. I can't lose her. She's my only hope of baiting Derick.

Finally I just rip off the bottom of my shirt and tie the strip of cloth around her leg. My stomach is exposed now, which makes me feel threatened in a strange way. We desperately need to find cover now, before some other tribute comes along this path. Before Derick decides to venture out for a nice stroll.

When I put my arm under Lehma's shoulder she collapses to the ground in a heap after only a few steps.

"You only hurt the one leg," I complain, flopping onto the ground beside her. She's breathing pretty heavily, and can't even manage to open her eyes enough to really glare at me. "Well, it's true."

She finally speaks once she's had a few minutes to just breathe. "I just jumped on a two-hundred and fifty pound boy right after he stuck a spear in my thigh, Kai. Ever had that happen to you?" I scrunch up my face at her, trying to think of a reasonable comeback.

"I've never been stupid or slow enough to let that happen to me," I jeer. The jibe doesn't affect her. She just closes her eyes and breathes slowly. To someone walking through the path, if it were anywhere but the arena, she'd look like she was sleeping. To me though, she looks like a waste of time. "How long do you suppose we should stick together?" I ask her lightly. I need a time frame for getting rid of her.

"I think," she says, and winces. Trying to sit up straight must be hard when you're pretending to be fatally injured. "I think we should stay together until we take out Shon and Derick. Then we part ways so we don't end up killing each other."

"Wouldn't want that to happen, now would we," I say, carefully disguising the malice. There's no way I'm going to get her to move for at least a few hours, so I carefully pull her into a space between two bushes that are dripping with berries. I squeeze in next to her, and pull the jerky from the bag. She accepts it gratefully, and we sit in silence.

It's amazing how much silence I've encountered since the games began. At home. At the reaping. Times on the train when we'd all ignore the fact the others existed. Even with my allies in the Games, most of my time is spent in silence. I pick up a stick and throw it at a tree.

"If I get out of here, I'm going to go home and shoot myself," Lehma says. "I know, it'd be a waste that I'm just killing myself after killing someone else, but who cares? Who would want to live after this?"

"That's not what I'm going to do," I say. "I'm going to go to the Capitol and buy a bunch of fancy clothes. And fancy alcohol and try and drink this all away." I wonder where I'm going to live when I get out of here. Maybe I'll be so rich I can build a mansion like President Rivera's.

"You could buy a car," Lehma jokes. It's not that funny, but alright, I'll play along.

"I could buy seven chariots, one for each day of the week!" I giggle. It's an obnoxious noise, but Lehma does it, too.

"Buy the stylists some class!" She shrieks with mirth, then claps a hand over her mouth. I don't know whether it's for fear of another tribute hearing her or for citizens in the capitol hearing her. Either way, she's an idiot.

"Do you have a death wish?" I hiss. Lehma shakes her head no but I lean in threateningly. "Because if you do want to die, I can end it right here and now." Her eyes pop wide open in surprise and she backs away from me, hand still clamped tight over her mouth.

We crawl slowly away from our hiding place, keeping as low to the ground as possible. Maybe I should just kill Lehma now, and try and win this alone. But no, that won't due. I have big plans for Lehma. If Derick doesn't kill her when I use her as bait, then I get to. The thought will hold me over. For now.

The sky growls at us threateningly, and I turn my face to the clouds as the first drops of rain begin to fall. The dribble slowly down at first, but soon it becomes clear that we're going to need to find shelter. Already the ground beneath our knees is becoming slippery mud, and we're on a hillside. Again I loop my arm under Lehma's and begin to drag her with me.

"Where are we going?" She huffs when I take a break. Truth be told, I don't really know. First my mind goes to the mines, but those could flood very easily.

"Probably just back to our house," I say. No other options are open to us here. I can only hope the other tributes aren't heading for the same place as us. A strange thought pops into my mind. If the Gamemakers really do control _everything_ in the arena, then they control the weather too. Maybe they're trying to corral us all into one spot. Might be the weekend, and everyone is home to watch. Need plenty of deaths to keep the ratings up.

We make it safely to our house in the city. The sky is so thick with clouds that it's almost as dark as night in the arena. It's hard to see anything inside, so I just dump Lehma in a chair and store my backpack on the bottom stair. Carefully, I drag Lehma's chair to the window so we can watch the storm. Just as I pull a chair up to the window, a magnificent bolt of lightning streaks through the sky.

I'm always amazed by the beauty of storms. Dad always said that humans could control anything they wanted but lightening. I wonder if the Gamemakers have figured out how to harness nature like that.

Lehma watched the storm as intently as I do. As the thunder shakes the houses, I wonder if we could have ever been friends outside of the arena. She flicks her eyes over to me once, and I turn towards the storm again.

Some of the weaker buildings in the city have been hurt again by the storm. Roofs shudder under the pressure of the deluge and the craters crossing the square fill with water. I wonder if the boys are having fun in the Justice Building which lost its roof in preparation for the games. I hope they get a good solid soaking and die of pneumonia.

No I don't. Old people die of pneumonia. Derick will die of an axe to the chest. Or a spear through his tiny brain. The storm passes by pleasantly as I imagine different brutal ways to kill Derick. By the time the storm has blown by, and the sun breaks through the clouds, I'm not having any homicidal thoughts at all. Well, not towards Lehma at least.

"What would you really do if you win?" Lehma whispers as a ray of sunlight falls across her face. It's freshly broken through the clouds, a beautiful, pale orange. I wish desperately for a slant of sunlight to highlight my features, but none comes. Instead, I recede into the blackness of my own mind.

"I told you. I'm going to live richly and drink away my memories." I respond. It's nearing nighttime, so I begin to prepare for another night. "Do you want me to take the first watch?" I ask her.

"You're not telling the truth," she accuses me. "You're fighting too hard for this to just be a nightmare for you. There's someone you're fighting for."

I bite my lip. "Maybe I'm just a coward." The window's dirty. I rub my finger against it, trying to wipe off some of the dirt. It doesn't work.

"Is it for her?" Lehma asks. Her eyes are cast down at the dusty floor. "For Derick's sister?" Hatred and some other feeling well up inside me and I avert my eyes.

"That's absurd." I say forcefully, and she finally takes the hint. "I'm taking the first watch. I'll help you get upstairs." It's slow-going, but I manage to get Lehma onto the oversized bed upstairs. Then, very quietly, I make my way down to the bathroom and throw up. I hate emotions.

Life's too complicated for a teenage girl. At least it is for me. I sob openly. If another tribute were to walk into the house right now, both Lehma and I would be dead. I don't even bother to go outside when the Capitol Anthem blares, even though someone could have easily died during the storm and we mistook the cannon for thunder.

Around midnight, I feebly crawl up the stairs and wake Lehma. She's not of much use as a guard, but she'd kill me if I let her sleep right through the watch. Thoughts about people killing each other aren't so funny anymore.

I dream of death. Everything I imagined happening to Derick happens to me, and I'm defenseless. The fear wakes me throughout the night, and I rock back and forth, sheets pressed to my face. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to repress the screams that well up in my chest. I resolve to never sleep again.

By morning I've entertained the thoughts of terrible deaths so much that I swear to never let it happen to me. If it comes down to someone I can't win against alone, like Derick, I'll just kill myself. End it with knife drawn across my throat. Lehma watches me as I pace around the house.

"So I watched the slideshow of the dead tributes last night," she says. So she was awake during my panic attack. Or breakdown. Whatever it was. "You can see the sky pretty clearly from that bed."

"Anyone other than the girl from 3 and the boy from 11?" I ask, trying my hardest to sound normal. She shakes her head, back and forth, so I resume my pacing.

"We need to start planning Derick's death," I tell her when I stop. "He needs to go. Soon." I don't explain why. She can interpret it any way she wants.

"Any ideas?" She asks, pulling out the last of the jerky. "I didn't see much happen when we were surveying earlier." True. I have an idea of how to get Derick out, but I won't let her know. It would ruin the surprise.

"Maybe we need another day or two to figure it out," I suggest. "From closer up this time. So we can hear them." Not that there's much we can learn from them that we don't already know. They probably speak in grunts to each other anyway.

"Good idea, but how close is closer?" Like I know.

"They're not too bright," I say slowly. "They're too sure of themselves. I'm sure we could even have our faces pressed against the window and they wouldn't notice. Because they wouldn't expect it."

"You won't leave me behind if anything happens, will you?" Lehma asks. She's staring right into my eyes, waiting for a response. I wonder if she's one of the people who can tell if you're lying just by looking at you.

"Of course not," I say with a grin. If she can tell if people are lying, she's just not saying it. If things go my way today, she's not going anywhere but into the belly of a hovercraft, and then into a nice pine box.

My mother said that three is a magic number. Do anything in threes, and you're going to get whatever you want. Lehma uses three little words that throw me into internal turmoil and guilt.

"I believe you," she says sweetly, and I hate her for it.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello to my faithful readers! Sorry it took me so long to post this! I just got back to school this week, and I've been really busy with school stuff. I hope you like it! As always, review, and send me any questions!**

We decide to leave the backpack at the house today. If we need to get away for any reason, I really don't want to be carrying it around. The plan is to sneak into the woods and loop around the back of the justice building, and get as close as possible from there. Before we head out though, I stop Lehma.

"You do whatever I tell you to, got it?" I say seriously. "I'm letting you screw this up for me." Instead of just nodding like her old self, Lehma looks me fiercely in the eyes.

"Sure," she says. "If what you're saying is what I was already thinking. And don't try and convince me otherwise."

"You'll do whatever I say." I snarl. "Or we're not leaving this house. We can wait for someone to come along and kill us." The self-sure monster just shrugs her shoulders.

"Guess you won't kill Derick then," she smiles. "Your loss." Damn. She's changed since I met her. I pull her out of her chair and drag her towards the door. Her leg probably hasn't fully healed, but it's not like we're going to get into a fight with Derick today. Unless we get lucky.

"Just so you know, the second Derick is dead, our little alliance is done for," I hiss. It's a cold day, the coldest since we arrived in the arena. The Gamemakers, or whoever planned out outfits, didn't include anything to keep out the chill and I resent them for it. There are plenty of other things to hate them for, but at this moment, hating them for the cold seems most logical.

Lehma rubs her arms, desperately trying to warm herself. She slides her dark eyes over to my face. "That was what I was thinking," she says. "I hope you know how to hide."

"As if," I laugh. There's no chance Lehma is going to be alive even an hour after Derick is dead. She's dragging her leg slightly, but makes no complaints. Maybe I've been underestimating her. I wonder how old she is exactly, but I'm not going to bother asking. All I know is that it's the same age she'll be on the day she dies.

We go as quickly as Lehma's leg will allow us. Pausing at the edge of the woods, I turn to Lehma. We're just out of view of the Justice Building.

"I think if we stay low to the ground we can get in the back," I whisper. "Let's just hope that they're in the front." I look at her face, which has drained of color. "Ready?"

Her answer comes as quietly as the wind. "No." Then she begins to army crawl out of the bushes and towards the people who would like nothing better than to kill her. It's really too bad that I'm going to kill her. She's got spunk.

Just as I anticipated, Derick and Shon are oblivious to anything happening around them. We safely reach the crumbled marble building and I'm struck again by how much detail the Gamemakers put into the arena. Each boulder of the white stone is carefully placed, the windows shattered just so. I'd bet anything that this matches the real thirteen perfectly.

The back doors of the Justice Building swing open at Lehma's light touch. The hinges on the door don't squeak like I expected them to. The interior is nothing like I expected. At our Justice Building in four, every room I saw was practically dripping with jewels and crystal, painted glass and satiny materials. The room we've just walked into is entirely trashed.

Bottles of alcohol litter the floor, and a smashed table lies in the corner. Maybe our Justice Building had a room like this, but I seriously doubt it. We're very proud of our cleanliness in four. I guess thirteen was pretty slovenly. Or someone wants it to look like that. Lehma nudges my arms and points to something on the floor. A dead mouse. To be exact, the skeleton of what I believe to be a mouse.

We advance very slowly into the building. It's not organized anything like the one in four. Where there was a staircase in my Justice Building, there's a supply closet here. The rubble and broken walls makes navigating even more difficult than it already was. I'm trying as hard as possible to make no noise, but it's virtually impossible to Lehma. Her wounded leg gives out at random moments, so I wonder if it was injured worse than we originally assumed. A muscle could have easily been severed.

We crawl through a dank hallway towards the front of the building. A strange smell wafts towards us, borne on a gust of wind that came in through a hole in the ceiling. It's stale, and metallic. It smells like death.

Once we've made significant progress to our goal, Lehma stops me. "We can't just walk out there. Or poke our heads around the doorway. Let's find somewhere to hide."

"I thought I called the shots around here," I growl. "But yes. Let's try upstairs. Even if we can just hear them it's better than nothing." She gives me a smug smile as we slide our hands along the walls, looking for an exit. There's no light in the hallway, and the walls are damp. I'm glad I can't see what I'm touching.

Eventually I find a stairwell. We crawl up it blindly, grasping each step, desperately trying to gain traction. Each step is slick with the same moisture that coated the walls downstairs. It's sticky.

A thin ray of light sparkles in the darkness up above me. I reach backwards, and grab Lehma's arm, trying to hurry for the light. I'm horrified when we reach the sunlight.

Lehma's covered in blood. The stuff drips off her hands, and dyes her light skin a horrifying shade of crimson. The carmine blood is spread across her arms and clothing. Her face expresses pure horror. "What the hell happened?" I whisper. She doesn't seem injured except for the blood everywhere.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," she says, reaching up to touch my face. "You're covered in blood, but I didn't hear you scream or anything." I lift my hands up in front of my face and see the red streaks that run across them.

"Where did all this come from?" I say, trying to think. "No one attacked us in the hall or anything…" Then it hits me. The hall. The strange moisture. The sticky surface of the stairwell. "They covered everything in blood."

Lehma's eyes widen in fear. "Whose blood?" We haven't heard any cannon shots lately that weren't because of us. And it's not like they drained their victims' blood just to coat their home in it.

"Maybe it's animal blood," I whisper to her. "Maybe they were trying to scare people off." It's nowhere near my actual suspicions which involve some very merciless Gamemakers. Lehma nods, and then motions me forward. The area we've just stumbled into is beautiful, like I expect Justice Buildings to be like. The floors are made of some satiny wood. Thick, plush carpets are splayed our randomly across the floor.

"I think I hear something," Lehma says. We crawl silently across the floor to a place where the roof has been blasted away, bringing a chunk of the floor with it. I take a deep breath and look down through the gaping hole.

Below us is a massive room. There's rubble lying all over the place. A chandelier has crashed to the floor, and the small crystals are scattered everywhere, casting rainbows on everything in the room. The most striking aspect of the room is the bones.

There are piles of bones everywhere. A mound of skulls. Stacks of femurs. Ribs have been splayed out across the floor in a strange pattern. All as if someone carefully arranged them all. I guess we know what Derick and Shon have been doing all this time, while the rest of us struggled to stay alive. They were playing with bones. Lehma looks up and meets my eyes.

A clatter comes from below, and I seek out the source. In front of the wide-open doors, Derick is playing a game with Shon. Derick wields a long bone in his hands that looks as though he stole it from a giant. Shon tosses a skull towards Derick, high in the air, and Derick uses his bone to hit the skull. More often than not, the skull shatters into a million tiny pieces, flying through the air. The leg bone Derick has is holding up pretty well.

Who the hell came up with a game like that? They're very obviously enjoying themselves, laughing and gamboling about. And I thought I had a sick mind.

"Come on, throw another!" Derick shouts across the room to Shon. Shon shakes his head and collapses into a chair. "What are you doing? I said throw another one!" He stomps across the room to his ally and smacks Shon over the head.

"I'm bored, Derick." Shon complains. "You said she'd show up for a fight. We been holed up here for a week almost. I want to go home."

"You idiot," Derick growls. "She will show up. And what makes you think you're going home? Now throw another skull, I'm practicing." Now I know who's in charge down there. For now. Derick takes a few practice swings through the air with the leg bone, waiting for Shon. "Why aren't you getting up?" He shouts.

"Because I'm not just going to do what you say Derick," Shon says, standing up. He's positively frightful, towering over even Derick, who stands at 6 foot 3. His muscles ripple as he leans down towards Derick. "I have a mind of my own. And if anybody's gonna make it out, it's me. No one wants you back at home, why even bother?"

"I have a sister and a father at home," Derick hisses back. "And I have a job lined up at home." The boys begin to circle each other, glaring.

"Like they really want you. You're a creep," Shon says.

"Shut the hell up. I have family." Derick yells loud enough to wake the creatures living on the upper floor. The bats flap out of a darkened room and swoop straight over our heads. I nearly scream, but manage to hold it in.

"Stop lying to yourself Derick. You heard what your sister said at the reaping. No one fell for your interview. The whole country thinks you're a monster!" Shon laughs. "At least they just think I'm stupid! They can't hate me!"

"You ARE an idiot," Derick says, shaking his head. "You just admitted to everyone that you've been playing stupid. And I'm not a monster. But you're gonna be dead soon." He launches himself at Shon, knocking his former ally to the ground. He wields the bone expertly, smacking Shon's head hard enough to make a terrible cracking sound.

Shon really is stronger, though, and flips Derick to the ground. The sound of bones breaking echoes through the building and both boys scream in pain. Derick reaches up and attempts to throttle Shon, who knocks away Derick's hands easily.

"Stop it Derick," Shon threatens. "You know you wouldn't win this fight. I don't wanna kill you just yet anyway." He drops his arms and Shon does the same. Neither of them is out of breath from their fight, and I wonder how many times this has happened since the games started. The testosterone levels must run pretty high in this building.

"Fine," Derick huffs, then coughs. "Fine. But I'm telling you, she'll come for me. I can guarantee it." Then they're back to being friends. Or as close to friends as you can be with someone who wants to kill you. I begin to formulate some plans for their deaths. We could wait for another fight to break out. They're both vulnerable at moments like that.

I'm just about to whisper the plan to Lehma when Derick changes tack. Shon has wandered over to the window and watches the empty city, his back to the room. Derick picks up a new bone from the floor, a particularly thick one. He walks up behind Shon, slowly, carefully. Then he lifts it high above his head and whips the bone around Shon's neck. Shon makes a strangled noise as he falls to the dirty floor.

Derick laughs as blood drips from Shon's mouth. It's the most gruesome sight I've seen yet in the games. How is the audience, in the capitol and in the districts reacting to this murder? One boy had his back turned when he was attacked. They're surrounded by stacks of bones, hallways smeared with blood, and Lehma and I watch from above.

Bruises are beginning to show on Shon's neck. They're a disgusting yellow color, and he chokes in air. For the first time in the games, I see fear in his eyes.

Derick circles his prey, a cold smile playing upon his lips. "Who's not going home now, Shon?" He places the tip of his boot gently on Shon's nose, and then stamps down hard. Blood spurts everywhere on the marble tiles. There is no cannon shot yet, though.

Derick plays with the last minutes of Shon's life. He picks up a boulder and drops it on Shon's legs. The sound of bones breaking rockets through the building, displacing dust, shaking us to our core. He pulls a sinister knife out from behind the ripped velvet couch, and begins to draw strange symbols on his victim's arms. Beautiful scarlet patterns seep from Shon's arms as he slips away from the world.

"Now, let's roll you out for the hovercraft to get you," Derick says cheerfully, throwing the knife against the far wall. His former friend's eyes are glassy, staring up at the ceiling, towards Lehma and me. But he's not dead. He sees us. We're possibly the last thing he sees before Derick uses a sharp piece of bone to slit his throat.

As the cannon shot rings out, Lehma and I scramble for the stairwell. We don't care about the bloody trail we will inevitably leave behind us. We just don't want to be caught in a house with a madman. Lehma trips at the last stair, but keeps going although her leg is beginning to fail her again.

The drone of the hovercraft cuts through the air, and we double our speed. Derick will be back inside soon. He's finally snapped. Now I'm going to be hunted like a dog, without a moment's respite. I trip over a broken bottle in the back room, and land in thousands of shards of glass. I ignore the pain and race from the building, eager to put as much distance between Derick and I as possible.

Of course, we're leaving destruction behind us, and therefore a path, but I don't care. He'll find me anyway, and I just want to be ready. It's a good thing we left the backpack in the house. It would have held us up inside the justice building.

Once outside, we crash into the trees and run straight forward. Just keep moving forward. Away from Derick. Has he found the marks we left behind? Is he beginning his chase now? There's no doubt that he will begin looking for me, leaving a path of destruction in his wake.

We sprint for hours through the trees, until Lehma's leg finally gives in. She begins to cry as she slumps to the ground.

"That's just sick," she hiccups through the tears. "I'm so scared." Well, I am too. But crying about it won't save your life when a psychopath wants to kill you. My throat is dry, burning. I begin to search for a water source, keeping Lehma in my sight.

Maybe using her as bait isn't the best idea. She'd die pretty brutally, because Derick apparently likes to play with his food. But do I really care about how she dies? Do I care if she suffers? No, I realize. Not really. Because if Derick were to come through the forest right now and kill us, it would be her fault. She's not helping me.

There's no water near us, so I explain to Lehma that we need to get moving. She's reluctant, and is refusing to move when we hear twigs snapping in the woods. I grab her arm and pull her behind me. We roll under a bush just as the fighting boys come into the clearing.

Derick's not one of them- they're too small- but they're also too big to be Micah. By process of elimination, I quickly determine they're the boys from districts seven and eight. The boy from seven is named Zane, I think. He's unrecognizable without his beard. I remember how Leonel said his mother didn't like facial hair. I guess it's a Capitol thing, because the beard is gone. There's not even stubble on his chin. Weird for 6 days in a forest, where a razor blade his better employ, such as killing people.

The boy from eight punches Zane in the throat, forcing his opponent to the ground. But Zane's pretty tough. As he pushes off the ground, he pulls a knife from his belt and slashes through the air. He catches 8 on the arm, and blood flies through the air. A drop lands on Lehma's face, and I have to slap a hand over her mouth to stop the scream.

It's a real fight going on in the clearing, as unlike what happened between Derick and Shon in every way. I wonder how long it will go on, considering how close a match it is. Both of them got a nine for training scores. They're roughly the same size.

It goes on for about half an hour. Punches are thrown, and blood sprays the trees around us. Finally, the boy from 8 manages to turn Zane's own knife on him. One quick motion, and Zane's throat is sliced open. He lies bleeding onto the hard ground, eyes staring unseeing at the bright blue sky. Dusk is settling in as the boy from eight crouches down next to him.

"I am so sorry," eight whispers to the dying boy next to him. "I just want to go home." He reaches for Zane's hand and grips it tightly in his own hand. "I'll stay here until you're…home." It's so strange, seeing someone who hasn't entirely lost their humanity in this forsaken arena.

It doesn't take long for Zane to fade completely from the world. When he does, the boy from eight closes Zane's eyes and steps back respectfully, head bowed as the hovercraft appears in the sky. He's badly injured, but stays standing as the claw drops down and takes Zane back to the Capitol, where he'll be prepared for burial.

Two faces will appear in the sky tonight. I knew both of their names. Yet I've never thought of them as humans, just as opponents. The boy from eight makes me feel as low as an earthworm. And I hate him for it.

He's looking to the sky. I see tears sliding down his light brown skin as he whispers one more apology to Zane and district seven. He slumps down on the ground, head in his hands, and begins to cry in earnest. Remorse. That's something new in the arena. If you don't count Micah. And I don't.

It's really too bad I'll have to kill him. He seems like such a nice boy. Maybe I'll just make it quick. As painless as possible. But I don't have very many tools to work with. Slashing his throat will probably work the best, like how he killed Zane. I'll wait until the anthem, so he doesn't know what's happening.

He doesn't look up at the sky when the anthem comes on. I pull myself slowly out from under the bush, and Lehma tries to follow me.

"Just let me do this on my own," I whisper as quietly as I can. The pictures flash onto the sky, casting a blue light over the arena, and I walk over to the boy from eight. Of course he doesn't hear me because of the sound of the anthem. But I step lightly, trying to not disturb him.

My knife is sharp, so the blade slices his throat easily. As close to painless as I can hope to give him. But he just won't die.

As he looks into my eyes, I don't feel any pity for him. Just weariness. Why can't he die easily? With him gone, I'll only have five people to kill. With him gone, I'll be closer to home.

His eyes search my face, perhaps hoping for me to say sorry like he did to Zane. Maybe he thinks I feel remorse. But I don't.

Unceremoniously, I lift my knife and stab him multiple times in the face. It's a terrible sight, but it does the job. The cannon blasts and I wipe the blood off of my hands and onto his shirt.

"Sorry," I say, shrugging my shoulders as the hovercraft lifts him away. "Not my problem anymore."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hello my lovely readers! I cannot express how grateful I am to those who've been reading since the very beginning. Sorry I've been taking so long to update my story, but I've been busy in school! Some reviews might encourage me though ;)**

I stalk off through the woods, leaving Lehma to catch up. The hovercraft materializes overhead and carries away the boy from 8. That leaves six of us in the arena. Five people I'll have to kill, because apparently no one else has the guts to fight this thing out. And I refuse to be stuck in this damn arena much longer.

"You're despicable," Lehma says as she reaches my side. She's panting heavily and dragging her leg behind her. The gash has opened itself up wide now, and she leaves a trail of crimson blood on the damp leaves. "How do you live with yourself?"

I whip around, and pull my knife from my belt. There are still drops of the boy from eight's blood on its shiny surface. "That's the problem, isn't it?" I hiss, placing my knife on her throat. "I'm trying to live. The ends justify the means." Her eyes widen in fear. Like I'd actually cut her. I still need her still.

"I think it might be time to go our separate ways, Kai," she gulps. She tries to take a step back, but I press my knife more firmly against her dirty skin.

"I don't think so," I say, shaking my head. "We had a deal. Derick still needs to die." She nods softly, so as not to cut her own neck by accident. I put it back into my belt and turn to walk again.

"How exactly are we going to kill Derick if we keep running away from him?" Lehma says, unmoving. She's about ten yards back now. I sigh loudly.

"Just stop questioning my methods. We're making a loop back to the cornucopia. I want everyone to see this." Once we're back there, I'll somehow convince her to go out into the open. On her own. And then I'll figure out how to kill Derick on my own.

We hike into the woods for several hours. There must be some edge to the arena, but I've never found it. It's lucky there were so many streams crisscrossing the real thirteen, because the Gamemakers made sure to replicate it exactly. We drink every so often, because the heat is rising tremendously in the arena.

As night begins to fall, we come upon the smoldering ruins of the cabin Basil Wick died in. I feel a brief pang of regret for the little boy, who I had sworn to not kill. If only some stronger competitor had sought refuge in the house. But no, they wouldn't have been that stupid. Well, maybe Derick's that stupid.

The air is still growing hotter as the sky darkens. I guess it's confirmed then. The Gamemakers have installed themselves as mini-gods and are manipulating nature. The heat wouldn't persist naturally. The anthem blares through the forest, and although we know what we'll see, Lehma and I instinctively look to the sky.

Shon's dark features are shown in the arena for the final time. It's sad really. All the gamblers in the Capitol probably placed massive amounts of money on his winning. Now all they're left to bet on is a thirteen year old, a psychopathic teenager, and four girls of questionable strength and skill.

Actually, I haven't given much thought to the other competitors, the girls from eleven and twelve. I wonder if they've formed an alliance. No clue how tough they are either. I didn't pay much attention to anyone during training but Derick. It might be fatal to underestimate them though. They've made it this far.

After Zane and the boy from district eight's pictures have faded from the sky, Lehma and I decide to settle down for the night. We don't stand much of a chance against anyone if we're completely sapped of our strength.

She takes the first watch, and I doze off into another terrible nightmare. My mother said dreams were telling you things. Tonight, I dream everyone is telling me good-bye. But I'm not dying- or am I? I'm not going a trip. Everyone just takes my hand, tears in their eyes and whispers farewell.

But I don't want to leave. Wherever I am in my dream, it's safe. It's the first time I've ever known what safe really meant, and it's being ripped away from me by some awful outside force. Then there are the skulls, falling from the sky like rain. And the strange red color of the sky. The color of my blood. I've seen it enough times recently to know it's mine.

It's early morning when I wake. The sky is a bright, beautiful pink, puffy clouds floating lazily around. Lehma lies next to me, asleep. We could have both been killed because of her. I grab her by the hair and pull hard. She screams in protest.

"Why didn't you wake me?" I hiss as a get to my feet. We need to get moving. "Derick could have found and killed us both." She scrambles up next to me.

"Sorry, I thought you were awake," she pauses. "You were moving around like crazy. What the hell were you dreaming of?" One look from me and she quiets. "Sorry. It doesn't matter."

"I have a syndrome,' I say snidely. "It's called 'I could be killed at any moment, so I have nightmares about a boy cutting my head off when my ally falls asleep.' It's pretty damn tragic, huh?" Lehma scowls at me but doesn't respond.

I think I might have over-estimated Derick's mental faculty last night. He hasn't shown himself, and he's not the type to hide quietly in a tree and ambush us. No, if he were pursuing me, he would have run out of the trees brandishing some menacing weapon by now.

So he's still there. Hiding in his ruined Justice Building, playing games with mountains of skulls. The citizens of the Capitol must have had a nice laugh over us running from nothing. I kick the ground hard when I realize this. It's not a very nice feeling, knowing that you're being portrayed as a total idiot on national television.

Lehma comes to the same conclusion shortly after I do. "He never followed us, did he?" she accuses. Fine. I don't know Derick as well as I thought I did. But in my defense, he's gone crazy. He's developed some sinister techniques for killing people. Derick is not the same boy I grew up with.

"No," I respond simply, and then turn on my heel. All this running has been pointless from the beginning. Even if he was following us, what would the point have been? Tiring ourselves out? Now that I know he's not even following us, I'm pissed.

I pull the knife from my belt and throw it at a tree in one swift motion. I scream at the top of my lungs. I fall to the ground and sob. Lehma just stands back and watches me tantrum. I don't know why. If it were her throwing a fit, I'd be throwing a knife. Into her back.

"I'm done," I sob into my filthy hands. "I want to get out of here." Lehma kneels down next to me and wipes my face gently with her sleeve.

"I know," she whispers. Why does she have to be so nice to me? It'll make it that much harder to send her out to her death. "But we're still alive. That's all that matters." I nod, feeling like a child. My stomach growls loudly, and I reach instinctively for my backpack. Lehma walks over to the tree and pulls the knife out of the hard bark. "I'll get something to eat, okay?" Again, I nod. Then a curl up into a ball on the forest floor and wait for her return.

I guess I've finally lost it. No denying it. If anyone or anything, from Derick to a wolf, walked into the clearing, I'd be dead. Do I really care though? It might be nice to not fear for my life constantly. To forget the faces of the people I've killed. Or to just forget.

The sun has reached its peak when Lehma comes back. She has a fat white rabbit in one hand, a live fish in the other. I pull myself up and accept the rabbit from her. I've never had to skin anything before, but it's not as difficult as I thought.

"Where's your knife?" I ask her, because she hasn't killed the fish yet. It's nearing the end anyway, but still, it's strange she isn't gutting it yet.

"Must have lost it in the Justice Building," she shrugs. I place the rabbit on my lap and begin to gut the fish. It's second nature to me, considering I've been doing it since I was three. "Should I light a fire to cook these?" She asks tentatively.

"I don't see why not," I respond. "We're going to have to face someone eventually." I'm trying to act as normal as possible. There's no telling how much damage came from my breakdown. Lehma might begin to think I'm weak, and then where will we be? Dead, probably.

We decide to pretend that we're not trapped in the arena today. Lie on our backs and find shapes in the clouds. Tell each other stories from our districts, like the day in the tree, watching Derick and Shon.

"When I was younger, I wanted to be just like my brothers," Lehma tells me. "They're all really strong. Some of them are important to the meat processing center. They're kinda like the bosses. But my mom told me that I couldn't do that sort of thing. Told me I was too small.

"Not many women work in my district," Lehma frowns. "I guess they think we're too weak to handle the livestock. And plenty are pretty frail, but not all of us. I just think it's not fair that I can't do things."

"You know, we're probably being blocked form the airwaves right now?" I tell her with a light laugh. "Saying something's unfair could be rebellious you know. The Capitol is always right." I sound ridiculous, and she cracks up next to me.

"Oh, a rebellion wouldn't be so bad. Look what we got out of the last one!" She says, then throws a clump of grass into my face."

"What the hell was that for?" I giggle, throwing dirt at her. "And I agree! Look what a marvelous time we're having! The adrenaline rush that comes with each twig that snaps, the high chance of being eaten by some strange animal…who wouldn't want to be us right now? We're celebrities!" It's nice, to just play.

"If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?" Lehma asks once we've calmed down?

"Other than here you mean?" I think for a moment. Back before the dark days, my immediate answer would have been the Capitol. Now that I've seen just how deluded the people are though, I never want to go back there. "Home, I guess. Down at the beach."

"Me, too," Lehma says. "In four, like you. There's not much in ten. Do you know I've never seen the ocean?"

"Really?" I ask. I've seen the ocean nearly every day of my life. Every day before the reaping really. I can't imagine a life without the ocean just steps from home. District ten must be terrible. How do they survive? I ask Lehma, who just laughs.

"It's all grasslands. As far as the eye can see really. As the way the grain ripples in the wind looks like flowing water." She gets caught up in a reverie. "I never thought that I could miss it. I never thought that there was anything in the world that could be worse than ten."

"What was it like there, during the dark days?" I keep my voice low, even though I know the cameras are not pointing at us now. "In four, it was over really fast. We didn't even get into the rebellion until the end. But hundreds, maybe even thousands of people died." Lehma chews her lip before answering.

"It's all blurry in my head now. I don't remember much but the flames. There were always flames, eating up the fields and the people. And all the peacekeepers. They were so cruel. A lot of kids died for no reason." She stops. "I was so scared I was next."

"Next how?" I have no clue what she's talking about. Unless she helped in the rebellion; but then, who didn't?

"Well, there weren't many things that were going to convince us to give up our rebellion, now where there? They could kill as many of our fighters as they wanted, but there were always more of us. But they had one way to make us stop."

I don't want to hear her next words. There's only one way that the Capitol could think of to stop a rebellion. One thing that they could use against the districts no matter what.

"The children. They stole hundreds of kids. Took them away, somewhere. They were never heard from again," Lehma begins to sob. Slowly, I put my arms around her. Softly. She freezes at my touch.

"Did they take…anyone you knew?" I ask. What I really want to know is if the Capitol took anyone in her family. She lifts her head a little, and I can already tell, just by her expression.

"I wasn't always the youngest in my family." It's such a heart-breaking story. If it weren't for the fact that the Capitol probably turned the cameras away an hour ago, the audience would love it. Tragedy draws in crowds like a moth to a light. Even in my now cold heart I feel a stirring of pity. I've imagined it plenty of times, but I would never actually survive if Khalia was taken away.

We sit in the woods for hours. Lehma drains herself of the tears that I'm sure she hasn't dared let fall since the dark days. I guess its true then. No matter how bad your situation is, there's someone out there who has it worse.

It begins to rain as we waste a day in the forest. Maybe we're getting ourselves one extra day. No one has come hunting for us yet, so it's sweet relief. I hope the Gamemakers don't think we're being boring. The last thing I need is for a thunderstorm like the one just a few nights ago.

Could it have been such a short time? The first day seems like eons ago. The arena feels like it's light years away from district four. I don't hide from the rain today. I turn my face to the sky and let the water wash away the past two weeks. Because of how warm the Gamemakers have been making the arena, it's really just like a refreshing shower.

I try and untangle Lehma's matted hair with the help of the rain, but it's no use. I finally just chop off the knotted sections and make the ends as even as possible. She does the same for me. I've had long, straight hair all my life. Now I'm unrecognizable. And it feels amazing.

"You know, I've never thought about my family that much since getting here," I admit guiltily. "I've just been so focused on getting out of here alive. I wonder what they think of me now."

"They're probably just glad you're still alive," Lehma shrugs. Easy enough for her to say. She hasn't killed anyone in the arena. Yet. Probably never will, as long as my plan works correctly.

"Maybe," I respond lightly. I lift my chin and open my mouth wide, hoping to catch some water. It tastes terrible warm. "I think I might like this place if it weren't for the fact everyone's trying to kill me."

"Me too. It'd make a nice vacation spot. For those who like to camp." Lehma laughs. "I'd bet anything this becomes a top vacation spot for rich Capitol folk."

"It won't," I say quickly. "They still think that it's the real thirteen. They wouldn't want to come here. The radiation here might fry their outfits. Or hair."

"I don't think the Capitol will appreciate us mocking them," Lehma scolds, but she's smiling slightly.

"Weird. I didn't really appreciate being thrown into an arena full of twenty-three people who would enjoy nothing more than killing me." Maybe she's right though. If, I mean _when_ I get out of the arena, how will the Capitol punish me for my traitorous words? No one other than the Gamemakers have heard my words, but it's enough. No one likes treason. And how will they react to their "Victor" saying things like this?

I need to get my head back into the game by tonight. Because that is when I will begin my attack on Derick. Sure, it was nice to have a day off and mope, and pretend that nothing happened. But that's over. There's still the possibility that one of the other girls will find us here, completely unprepared for an attack.

There's still the issue of how I will convince Lehma to wander out into the square on her own. Maybe I've built up some trust with my nice attitude today, but that's not enough to get her to walk into certain death. But for now, it's my only option.

"Let's head back to the city," I suggest. Lehma nods and we start to head off into the forest. We've walked about a mile when the anthem comes on. There have been no deaths today, but the anthem is played in full before fading away. It's replaced by the sound of Eliseo Clemens voice.

"Hello tributes, and congratulations on making it to the final six," He booms. It's loud enough to scare the birds out of the trees. "As a special treat, we will be offering a feast to all of you. It will be held at the cornucopia at midnight. I hope to see you all there."

Then the voice fades away and the soft night sounds of the forest return. I look at Lehma, who's staring at the sky, as though more words will reach us. Is she hoping for advice?

"Well, we were heading there anyway." I say. She shrugs. I finger the knife in my belt, knowing that it will be bloodied again by morning. Just whose blood is on it will be determined by who's brave enough to show at the cornucopia. Or stupid enough to go. Derick will be there. He never passes up free food.

"This better be a pretty fancy dinner," Lehma mutters as we dodge under a low tree branch. Well, for her sake, I hope it is. Because it's probably going to be her last meal.

As the moon begins to climb in the sky, a soft blue light highlights our path to the bloodbath. If anything is sure in the world tonight, it's that the cannon will fire tonight. And with it, I'll have lost my only ally, or my greatest enemy.

But hopefully, both.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I feel like such a loser because I nearly cried while writing this chapter. You'll see why. Review por favor? Love you all!**

It's nearing midnight when we reach the edge of the tree line. Nothing stirs in the forest around us, not even the birds. There's no sign of the other tributes yet either. Derick's probably holed up inside the Justice Building, waiting for the food to appear. But where are the others- the girls from eleven and twelve, and Micah?

A soft wind whispers in my ear. Waiting has always been the hardest part, in every aspect of my life. I begin to scratch my name into the dirt. There are some pools of mud in the clearing, but the trees kept out little space dry.

We lie on our bellies, just out of view, as we wait for the signal that will tell us it's midnight. It's nearly an hour before we hear anything from Eliseo. His voice comes over the hidden speakers, this time quiet, as though he were speaking to each of us personally.

"I'm glad to see you all came," he says in a sly whisper. "Now, it's your own choice whether or not you partake in the feast, but you'll be missing so much if you skip out on it." I swallow hard and look at Lehma.

"What's the plan, boss?' She asks me, a small smile playing upon her lips. That's when I realize. She knows I don't plan for her to survive the night, and that if she does, I'll hunt her down. I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. A heavy sense of regret settles down in my stomach. I doubt that it will leave anytime soon, if it ever does. "Don't feel bad. I think I knew it had to be this way from the moment I was reaped. How could a small girl from district ten ever win this?"

"I don't know what to say." But I do. I just don't know how to make my mouth form the words. There's too much I owe her now. "I'm sorry you got caught up in my mess. I'm sorry any of us ever did." That will do for now.

She shakes her head softly, still smiling. "You don't owe me anything. You've never done anything that really hurt me." I never told her the truth about Vee. What would happen if I decided to tell her right now? Would she still take those fatal steps towards the cornucopia, or would she kill me? Maybe it's better not to test it.

"In three, two, one-" Eliseo interrupts us and a gunshot rings through the air. "Let the feast begin!" I whip my head around, and see a table laden with food rise from the ground in front of the cornucopia.

"I'll go first, shall I?" Lehma asks, getting to her feet. "You've got my back, right?" I nod speechlessly. It's not common to see such bravery in the face of terrible, merciless death. I saw it enough during the dark days, but not like this. She's sacrificing herself for nothing. All going out there will do is save me from having her blood on my hands. And I do something I haven't done enough since I met her.

"Thank you," I whisper to her retreating back. I don't know if she hears me through the warm, whipping wind. But a heavy weight is lifted from my chest. Maybe there's still some humanity left in me after all.

She sprints to the table just as Derick leaves the Justice Building. He has a leisurely pace, and a bow and arrow. I've seen his deadly accuracy. Used on Scarlett. Part of me wants to rush out there and stop him from pulling back the bowstring. The other part of me cheers him on, glad to see an end to Lehma, who's been a major burden on me for nearly three days now.

Three days only? Yet I know her so well. I anticipate her dodging as the arrow flies through the air. Although she's so far away, I know she smirks as the arrow tip sinks into the cornucopia.

Oh, how Derick has changed. Normally, he would have flown into a rage when he missed. Now he just laughs. He's completely unhinged. Some other competitor, one of the other girls, mistakes his laughter as him being harmless now. She slips out of the forest, nothing more than a wisp of a girl.

Life in slow motion is terrible. The girl, who I can now tell is from eleven, lunged at the food on the table, knocking everything to the ground. Derick stops his terrible laughter and he begins to walk forwards. Pitifully, the girl from eleven throws a loaf of bread at him.

He catches it as it flies through the air and rips it apart with his teeth. The fluffy white pieces of dough fall to the ground like heavy snow. Lehma has her back pressed against the cornucopia, and I see her head turn towards where I'm hidden in the woods.

I've just left my shelter when Derick first hits the girl from eleven. As he slams the girl against the muddy ground, Lehma lunges at him, no weapons in her hands. It's a suicide mission now, and I can't let her die in vain.

As Derick tussles with the two girls, a flash catches my eye at the edge of the forest. Micah. He's still in the game, and he's still running. I'm torn as to whether or not I should go after him, or finish Derick now. With my last ounce of sanity, I choose the latter.

Without conscious thought, my feet fly across the ground, splashing mud up into my face, obscuring my vision. The fighters are only feet away when I pull out my knife, grip it hard. I fling myself forwards, and thrusts the knife into whatever is directly in front of me. A high pitched scream pierces the air. I don't know if it was Lehma or eleven. But I don't care anymore.

Cold rage steals my soul from me, moving my hand through the air, slashing at the moving forms in front of me. I'm leaving through a nightmare. But I don't know if I'll wake up from this one.

A cannon shot echoes through the dark stadium. Even by the bright moonlight I cannot tell who it was. Or whose kill it was.

I'm pushed to the ground by something- or someone- very large. So Derick hasn't fallen yet. He lets out a roar, like a savage beast. Fear takes the place of blood in my veins, and I back up towards the cornucopia.

I've never imagined death before. No one ever talks about what happens after life. Is it all blackness? Or do all spirits meet up again somehow.

I don't want to find out. Not today. All the lights in Panem are on tonight. Every district is tuned in. And Demetra sits somewhere, with my family or her own, watching her brother try and kill me. She can forgive me for this. I hope.

More screams rocket through the still air. I can see Derick's fist flashing through the air, knocking in someone's head. He's stopped paying attention to me entirely. Saving me for last. Like a good boy. But this night will not end with my blood spilled on the ground.

Like a zombie I rise from the ground. The knife has not left my hands since I left the woods. And it will not leave my hands until Derick is dead. He's still busy killing the poor tribute when I reach him.

In all my fantasies about this moment, it took quite a while. I thought of impressive and sickening ways to torture a man in the past week. But this, this is understated. He's not worth the effort to take time on. My knife finds his back. Finds his frozen heart.

He squeals like the wounded animal he is, and falls to the ground, unmoving except for weak breaths. His cannon shot does not ring out in the five minutes that I stand over him. I kneel down next to him, find his eyes.

"I hate you," I whisper in an icy tone. Then a grab the handle of the knife in his back and twist. He makes no noise this time, but his eyes find mine. They plead with me. But he's never shown me mercy, so I return the favor.

After his breathing stops entirely and his cannon shot rings out, I'm stunned. His death was anti-climactic. This was supposed to be the major rivalry of the games. My showdown with Derick. I pull the knife from his body and stab him repeatedly in anger. I thought I'd feel complete when he died. I just feel another hole opening in my soul.

There's a feeble stirring from Derick and I jump back in fear. It can't be him; his heart's stopped. His cannon fired. It must be the other tribute!

I push Derick's heavy body off of the dying tribute, willing it to be Lehma. I have too many things to say to her for her to be gone from this world. I catch a glimpse of the jagged edge of her hair in the dimming light. Once again, she's covered in sticky red blood. But this time, it's her own.

She's suffering, I can tell that much. The light has gone from her eyes but I can hear her labored breathing. Gently, I lift her head into my lap. The face I had come to know so well is gone, beaten into a pulp by Derick's raging fists.

"I'm so sorry Lehma," I cry. Why? I have hated this girl determinedly since I met her. "I didn't want you to die, not like this." She didn't want me to apologize. But I have to. It's my fault that she's not even capable of opening her mouth to speak. "I have to thank you. You're the reason I'm alive. You've saved me too many times to count." Her eyes close, but I won't let her go yet.

"Lehma, I'm not going to forget what you've done for me." I shake her lightly as her breathing slows even more. "Don't go yet." I whisper. I can't even see her through the tears clouding my vision. "Thank you, I owe you more than you can imagine," I manage to choke out as the cannon shot echoes through the stadium.

I stumble backwards so that the hovercraft can descend and take the three tributes away. While I wipe my eyes on my shirt, I make some mental notes.

There are three of us left. _Three. _This has to end soon. Maybe even by this time tomorrow. I hold myself directly responsible for seven deaths, including Lehma's. I'm indirectly responsible for at least three more tributes dying.

I'd have never thought that I could contribute to one death, let alone ten. Seeing the inside of my blackened soul terrifies me. My father's words echo in my empty head. _We love you Kai. Just don't let them change you. _

I don't know who or what has changed me, but I'm never going to be Kai again. If I get back to district four, I won't ever do the same things. No one will look me in the eye there. Not even Demetra. I've broken every promise I've ever made. My promise to my father, my promise to Demetra, my promise to Lehma.

For hours, I sob into my shirt. Out in the open. Why isn't anyone coming to kill me off? I wouldn't mind it right now.

It takes me quite a while to realize something. Dying would suck. Not only for me, but for Lehma too. She died so I could live. And here I am, wailing away, hoping that someone will stick a spear through my heart.

So I stand. Unsteadily, feeling as though the ground might collapse beneath my feet. There's still food from the banquet lying on a pure white table cloth. A beautiful, ripe, bright red apple stands out in the darkness. It feels strange when I pick it up.

I take a bite that I immediately spit out. Wax. They tried to lure us out with wax food. Angrily, I stomp the rest of the "food" to bit, toss hams into the side of the cornucopia, and scream at the sky.

"Just end this already!" I yell to the Gamemakers, smug and warm at home. "Send them here; I'll kill them if you want. I'll die if you want!" Every word I utter will draw viewers in, but I don't care. I do wonder what angle they'll take with this- am I mad with grief, or have I just snapped under the pressure of everything.

No matter how many times I beg the air to end my misery, nothing happens. They want me to hunt. I take the hint.

My first stop is the old house, to pick up my backpack. Somehow, the house is even more eerie without someone by my side. The backpack sits on the bottom step, collecting copious amounts of dust. The water bottles inside are still filled to the brim, but the hot days have made the water undrinkable. I pour out the contents onto the wooden floorboards and watch it trickle away, towards the door. Dusts swirls in the mini rivers.

Once I have my backpack on, I head for the Justice Building. If anyone was well stocked, it was Derick. I'm crossing the square when I see it. The patch of crimson, mostly faded by wind and time. All that's left of Scarlett in the arena. The wind leaves my lungs as I stare at it. A fire is lit in my brain and it won't go out until it's put out. By Micah's blood.

Now I see who my main enemy in the arena is. Derick and I were just a sideshow to my true purpose. The second day in the arena I let Micah go, and it was the biggest mistake of my life. Now we've crossed path too many times for me to not follow him. I scan the trees in the distance as dawn breaks. No sign of him. But he won't sleep again in this arena, unless he can sleep with one eye open.

When I reach the Justice Building, I realize just how reluctant I am to go inside. This place will probably take center stage in my nightmares for years to come. I can't get the sight of Shon's death out of my head. When I close my eyes, his eyes are there, staring into my soul.

I take a deep breath and push into the room. The stench of decay assaults my senses and I begin to gag. My eyes water and I cannot see what's causing the smell. It could be anything really.

I pull the collar of my tunic up to my nose and take deep breaths. The salty smell of my tears from last night manages to block out Derick's filth and my sight clears. The piles of bones are gone, replaced by an odd sort of artwork. I can't tell what it is from here, but I can see the red blood filling in the spaces between lines of bones.

I'm still perplexed as to where all the blood came from. It's not like he hunted, not as far as I saw at least. Not that I want to learn the sinister secrets behind anything Derick ever did.

In the corner of the room there is a pile of weapons. Lethal-looking machetes, bloodied spears and even a shiny sword. No knives like I'm used to though. I grab a spear and machete, stuffing the latter into my bag. It's a shame I never learned to use a sword. That would have made a nice, dramatic ending to Micah's life.

There's no food in sight. Which means I'll have to search this mansion of terrors. Awesome.

I don't go down the hall where Lehma and I got covered in blood. No, I'm not willing to relive that. I'm sure it will come to me in my sleep, where I can't avoid it. Instead, my eyes find the hole in the ceiling where Lehma and I watched the murder. It's really surprising that no one noticed us. Well, until Shon was almost dead. The ceiling isn't very high, and just glancing around the room your eyes are drawn to it.

Unless Derick wanted us to see that. He was always so sure of himself that he probably didn't feel the need to go after us then. And Shon was always a much stronger competitor than either Lehma or I. But I'm not sure if Derick had the mental capacity to do something like that.

Towards the far end of the room is a clearly lit hallway. One side of it is lined by windows that look out towards what used to be the main street. I can see a baker's cart overturned on a crumbling sidewalk and a hat shop that's mostly standing. It's kind of funny to see the brightly colored hats in the destroyed shop. Everything else here is grey and has been destroyed. The Gamemakers have a sick sense of humor. But maybe there's a hat shop just like that in thirteen. Now the thought isn't so comical.

At the end of the hall I find a beautifully decorated room. No damage has been done to it, unlike the rest of the building. The walls are powder-blue, inlaid with silver designs. It reminds me of district four's Justice Building. Along the wall are packages of crackers and dried fruit. Damn dried fruit. I knock over the packages, and kick them away from myself. I fill my bag with crackers, leaving just enough room for a water bottle that I'll fill at the stream.

As I leave the room an evil thought settles into my mind. I go back and pick up a single pack of dried fruit and stuff it into my bag. I wonder if Micah still likes it.

I try and leave the building as quickly as possible, but I'm drawn to Derick's artwork. I make the terrible trip down the blood-stained hallway and fight my way up the stairs. For some strange reason, the blood hasn't dried yet. Maybe it's the moisture that naturally soaks dark places like this.

When I reach the familiar shaft of sunlight, I decide to explore. To waste time before I need to look down and see what Derick's last message was. To my right is a white door. The doorknob is made of crystal, and makes me shake my head at the little luxuries the Capitol has always taken.

Inside the room is silver parachute upon silver parachute. So many gifts from sponsors to the boys everyone thought had the best shot of winning the Hunger Games. I'm jealous. I can't hide it. Look who's standing here now, without all these little gifts. Guess the joke's on them.

All the boxes attached to the parachutes are the same size, Wonder what they were being sent so regularly. Such pretty little boxes. But what they have possibly been carrying to the brutish boys? It's no use puzzling over them, though. There's nothing left inside.

There's nothing else to do. I leave the room, crouching to the ground as I approach the hole. When I reach the edge, I squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as I can without forcing them into my skull. Bracing myself. Because whatever's down there, it's terrible. It must be.

I open my eyes and scream.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Okay, so this is a pretty disturbing chapter, in my opinion. Let me know what you think of my writing technique, and if I overdid it. Because I think I might have. Blame it on my playlist. Thanks to all my reviewers, and don't forget to vote in the poll at the top of my profile page!**

In one glance, my perceptions of Derick have been changed permanently. Now I understand why the Gamemakers made his death so quick, so unremarkable. He defied them.

I don't know why I screamed. Shock, I suppose. How did the Capitol play this with the audience? Are the cameras turned away from the ground, and pointed at my face. Are they telling viewers that what I'm looking upon is too gruesome for even the Hunger Games? Probably. They're letting the citizens in the Capitol keep thinking that Derick was a total monster.

Below me is a contradiction to every thought I've ever had about my neighbor. Below me is the rebellion itself. The spark that started the dark days, shown in crimson blood and bleached bones.

I think that the unrest in Panem had been building up for a long time. Probably since the fall of North America. However, the districts owed everything to the Capitol, because they were the only reason we survived after everyone else failed. But power is poison. The Capitol grew corrupt; the districts grew sick. We were all weak with hunger and regrets. No one rebelled though. Not until the boy died.

No one's really sure where he lived- both districts 8 and 11 claimed him. The face of the rebellion. He never knew of it. He was dead. Killed by ruthless peacekeepers over a loaf of bread. Murdered. Set ablaze by the strange weapons peacekeepers used. And it set fire to the nation.

District thirteen took over the rebellion. Led us all through the dark days. Encouraged our uprisings. Told us how best to kill peacekeepers. Everyone joined them. For months, people bled in the streets. Children died. Women tended to the sick but got sick themselves. The Capitol was safe on its own, hidden among the mountains.

Then one day district thirteen stopped telling us what to do. Efren Peck explained that fateful day that thirteen was gone. Thousands dead. Killed by nuclear missiles. Bombed until they were no more than dust. All because of one hungry little boy.

I do not begrudge him his bread. I do not resent him. I've felt the pangs of hunger enough in the past few months to understand why he did it. Who I really hate is the Capitol. President Rivera. Efren Peck. Eliseo Clemens. And I thought I hated Derick.

The bones and blood comes together to form the boy's death. The flames, engulfing his body. A cruel, merciless peacekeeper charring the young boy's face. Made all the more poignant by the materials used. I never knew. Anything. Derick was an artist. A rebel. Terrible still. Deranged at times. But so much more. I can respect the boy who would do this. No one will ever know this. They will see the clips of my horrified scream, the pale color I turned when I first saw it.

They'll think he was a monster. I'm so confused. Thoughts race through my mind like hurricane winds. Derick Arlyn, the antagonist of my personal story. Capable of redemption. Why though, if he hated the Capitol, did he want to become a peacekeeper? Why this, why that, why anything? My head hurts. If Derick isn't evil, then who is? Who is the enemy?

Words. They're all just words. They only have meaning if you want them to.

Monster.

Artist.

Murderer.

Rebel.

Enemy.

They go together, in a way. But then they shift, and it could be a different person altogether. It depends on how I interpret them.

Right now, I just want to spend my time thinking. But I can't. My primal instincts warn me against staying in the same place too long. As the sun breaks over the horizon on my ninth day in the arena, I hitch my backpack up onto my shoulder and leave for the forest.

I wonder if this is considered the grand finale. Is everyone in Panem tuned in to see how this plays out? Is every bet on me, or is the girl from twelve a formidable opponent in some way? Of course she is. She killed the boy from five that day, when Lehma and I were watching from our tree. No one's betting on Micah. It would be a pretty stupid bet, considering how bent I am on destroying him.

Well, I have no idea what I'm doing here. How am I going to find them in the woods? If I can't, though, the Gamemakers will certainly push us all together. At least, that what I'm counting on.

My trip into the woods is so strange. A flashback to the past week. The bushes where Lehma and I hid. The birdsong that told me that this was not thirteen. Today, the sun burns brighter than it had before in the games. I turn my face up to it; feel the warmth that reminds me so much of home.

Maybe, by the end of the day, I'll be on my way home. To a warm bed and my family. To Demetra. To the consequences of all I've done. I don't know if I have more to fear from the arena or home. Derick was popular there, I was just another girl. Dem was the one with friends, because of how beautiful she is. Will everyone hate me for killing him, although he would have done the same to me?

It's hard going in the forest. The land here hasn't dried yet from the rain, so I'm slipping everywhere, leaving skid marks on the trail. Perfect. Now anyone can follow me.

A wicked smile spreads over my face when I realize this. If anyone can follow my footprints, then I can follow theirs. Poor little Micah probably forgot this. Now all I need to do is watch for tracks in the muck and follow them to my prey. Perfect.

Now if only I could find a trail other than my own. A figure flashes through my mind, running past the cornucopia. Micah, last night. At the edge of the city. Almost reluctantly, I turn and head back for the city, where I'm sure to find his trail.

There's no reason for me to dread finding Micah. He's weak, there's no way he'll win in a physical fight. I know just how to play with his emotions so that he'll break down into a weeping mess. Yet still, my footsteps are slow. I take in everything that I pass by, mentally commenting on how beautiful everything is. As if I'll never appreciate beauty again.

I recognize this part of the forest. It was where I first came, following the red flicker of Scarlett's hair as she dodged through the trees, fighting to stay alive. Here is where I woke up to find her missing. Where I first began to hate Micah. Further down the hill is an irregular mound of dirt. Packed down by human hands. My hands.

My emaciated hands scrabble at the ground, and the soft mud gives away easily. The bow and quiver of arrows aren't buried very deep, but it's hard to get them out. The mud keeps refilling the hole as I dig but I finally grasp them. It's amazing that no other tribute found this treasure.

I wipe as much mud off of the weapons with me shirt as I can. In training I learned the basics of using a bow, but I'm useless if it's not close range shooting. And that was with a proper diet. I promise myself, _if I can get through today, I'll eat a giant meal in the Capitol. All my favorite foods. Stews and soups and rolls and eggs. _

The thought of the delectable Capitol food gets my stomach growling. There are some berry bushes at the edge of the city, so I get off the muddy ground and begin to head for the cornucopia again. Maybe this is the best idea. Just think of how great it will be in the Capitol, instead of what I'm planning to do.

I'll probably be famous when I get out of here. The very first winner of the Hunger Games. The people from the Capitol said the winner would win prizes beyond their greatest imagination. I don't know about that. I have a pretty powerful imagination. Right now, I'm pretending I'm anywhere but here.

I find a clump of big, plump, juicy berries. But they're not the ones that I've been eating for the past few days. But I know them from somewhere. Vee. They're the same berries that I used to kill him. No matter how terrible I feel about killing him, it was clever. One of my few kind murders. He didn't suffer that long.

After about two miles more of walking, I reach the clearing, and the bushes of sweet, edible berries. I eat my fill, gorging myself really. Putting it off. Even after I kill Micah, there's still the girl from twelve to contend with. And I know nothing about her. She could be positively lethal.

Apparently, Micah hasn't thought much about leaving a trail. His small footprints run parallel to the city, and then disappear into the forest. Mud is splattered onto the sides of trees from his high speed. For his sake, I hope he can run fast.

Before pursuing Micah, I take one last look around the city. There are no more bones scattering the area; Derick brought them all into the Justice Building to create his masterpiece. I'm tempted to go back to the Justice Building, just to see the mural one last time, but I don't think the Capitol would like that. Considering the Gamemakers could kill me at any moment, I'd rather not antagonize them.

It's a gorgeous day. A fishing day back home. I hope my family is making the most of it. They still have to survive while I'm in the arena. Maybe right now, they're sitting on the beach, eating raw clams, pretending as though I'm not heading off to kill a thirteen year old. I wish there was a higher age restriction for tributes. Killing kids seems so terrible, so brutal. But I guess that's the effect the Capitol was going for.

A piece of rubble lays at me feet, and I'm sorely tempted to kick it. With my luck, though, I'd break my foot and be a free kill to the other tributes. The odds never seem to be in my favor.

I'm just about to enter the woods when I see her. Standing on top of a pile of rubble, watching me. The girl from twelve. Well, not that I remember what she looked like. But it must be her; who else could it be? I count the dead tributes quickly in my head. Yes, it has to be her.

How is one supposed to react in a situation like this? My mother's careful reprimands and lessons on manners come back to me.

"Hello," I call out politely. "I hope you're doing well." The girl hops down from her pile of rubble and strolls over to me. The sun is at her back. I cannot see her face, not even remotely. It's eerie. One of us is going to kill the other very, _very_ soon, and I can't even tell what she looks like. Yet she can see any emotion that runs across my face right now.

The first thing that pops into my head is that she can't possibly kill me. I still have to kill Micah; it's just impossible that she should end my life before then.

I'm getting annoyed. She's stopped, a few yards away. Not saying anything. And I was so polite. Well, two can play the rude game. I pull an arrow from my quiver and fit it, rather shakily, onto the bow. The girl screams as I pull back the string, but I don't let the arrow fly. I'll give one more chance to speak before I kill her.

"I said, _Hello,_" I explain impatiently. The girl takes another step towards me, reaches a hand out. Why would an enemy do this at the last moment? Comfort before she dies, or is she trying to confuse me? If she is, it's working. Then, she speaks.

"Please, don't, don't do it Kai!" she pleads. I recognize that voice. I know it better than my own. It's not the girl from twelve. It's Dem. Here, in the arena.

But I saved her from the arena, weeks ago! Why would they put her in now? I want to weep for joy at seeing Dem again, but I also want to go on a rampage and kill everyone in the Capitol for doing this.

I drop my bow and run to her. As she embraces me, wraps me tight in her slender arms, I feel safe again. Happy. Even in the middle of a place like this, there's happiness. And she's not even mad about Derick!

I break away after only a few moments. We can't be out in the middle of this place, where the girl from twelve still lies in wait, hoping to kill me. I tug at her hand, trying to pull her to the trees.

"Come on Dem," I urge, pulling at her arms. "It's not safe here. We need to find cover!" She shakes her head, keeps her feet planted firmly in the city. Something is wrong with her. Did the Capitol threaten her?

No, why would they do that? If they did, she'd die either way. I tilt up my chin and look into her face. Still perfect, so perfect.

No. Not perfect. I can't see anything perfectly with the glare from the sun, but her eyes are off. They're red. This isn't my Dem. This is a Capitol mutt, designed to shake me to my very core. I step quickly backwards, my eyes locked on its. Because it is no human.

The thing spreads its mouth into a wicked grin, revealing terrible fangs. Not even close to being teeth. As it steps towards me, blood dribbles down its perfect chin. It speaks to me in her voice, but I'm scared of it. It isn't her. It can't be. But it has her voice.

I know what I'm supposed to do. Shoot her-I mean, it, through the heart, and be done with it. But I can't. One of the biggest mistakes a person can make is to underestimate the Capitol. Just ask District thirteen. It could still be her, just changed, and horribly changed by the Capitol. Could I kill that?

Actually, it's worth considering. I killed twelve year old Basil Wick. I'm on my way to kill a thirteen year old. But they weren't Demetra. Killing them wouldn't result in half of my heart being ripped away. If she's inside there, I can't kill it.

It watches me as I panic. No, it's not her. Not at all. If she were in there, she would get irritated with how slow I was, or offended that I was actually considering killing her. Well, more than offended. Outraged. But not bored.

I pull my backpack around my front, and pull out the first weapon that lands in my hand. The machete, long and lethal. Never would I have imagined using it before this moment. The mutt looks at it, shock registering on its face. The sun gleams off of the red eyes, making them even brighter and more terrible.

Just as I'm about the slice at it, the mutt begins to crumble. Its skin flakes off in massive strips, revealing the layer underneath, pink and fresh. Then that layer peels off, revealing the muscles which once made her face work.

My earlier snack of berries begins to make reappearance, and I regret my earlier gluttony. The thing walks towards me, speaking in her voice, still falling apart.

"Don't you still love me, Kai?" It cries. "Don't leave me here!" The arms begin to swell; every vein stands out, like she's about to pop. I thought I had seen the worst of the world already. Apparently not.

It reaches out to close the gap between us, ghastly, sausage-like fingers extended towards me. The nails are a terrifying green color, and the fingers begin to turn that color soon enough. The face begins to sag, blood seeping from the exposed muscles. I scream. It's high pitched, and I think my own eardrums might bleed from the sound.

The machete weighs heavily in my hand, but I can't bring myself to swing it. I'm powerless except for the impulse to back away from this dying creature, so pitiful in its last moments. It trips over a piece of rubble and lands, sprawled out, at my feet.

Still, it's not dead. It empties the contents of its stomach onto my shoes, burning though the material. I pull the off and throw them towards the woods before the acid reaches my skin. The thing reaches out and grabs my ankle just as the veins burst, splattering blood everywhere.

Dem, no, the mutt, screams. Screams Dem's scream. One that I associate with days at the beach, when someone would splash her with water when she was trying to preserve her hairstyle. It's sickening. Her playful screams, coming from a monster that lies dying on the ground.

I want to end it, but I can't. My muscles refuse to move the arm that holds the machete. My personal nightmare lifts its head, and looks my straight in the eye. The red is gone, replaced by Demetra's wonderful sea-green eyes. My heart drops from my chest. I'd know those eyes anywhere; anyone in my village would. Demetra's famous for them.

"Dem, I'm so sorry!" I screech, and reach down for it. Her hand reaches up to me, but drops as her heart stops beating. "No! No!" I scream repeatedly, and drop to my knees next to her. Once I hit the ground, the corpse begins to change. The skin grows back. The hair becomes think and lustrous again. Lips rosy. Cheeks flushed, even in death. All my fault.

Tears flow unchecked down my face. Now I know for sure it wasn't her. It's not possible for a human to do that, not without the help of Capitol surgeons. What gets me is seeing her dead. Something I've been fighting against since the day of the reaping. Yes, I forgot myself sometimes, and insulted the Capitol, but not enough to get my loved ones hurt.

She's not really dead, but seeing her like this, I feel like a failure. I can't bring myself to leave her in the square, where wild animals could come eat the body. But I must go, if I ever want to return to her in the real world.

In the end, I kiss the thing, whatever it was, on the forehead, and stand over it a minute. I wonder if the other tributes have experienced this terror. If they still are. If they decided to just kill the thing. Or if they lost their minds when the saw it. I survived it. For her.

A silent prayer. I don't know what comes next for the dead; religion is not encouraged in the districts. Not for the mutt. For the dead tributes. And for those who are about to die at my hands, because I've just learned the true meaning of fear. What it feels like in the last moments of life. I pray that the girl from twelve doesn't suffer when I kill her. She's never hurt me. I pray that Micah never stops suffering.

I take a last look at the mutt, erase it from my mind for the next few hours of my life. I don't worry that I'll lose the sight. It's just another image that will come to me in my nightmares.

Then I turn, and set off to hunt.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: GUYS GUYS GUYS. We're nearing the end so sad, but I am so excited. Read and review. Oh, and a shout out to AnneSilverfire, GoblinDreamer, DJ shmitz, effmitch, cynicz and all of my other faithful readers. I love you guys so much! & please vote on the poll on my page! Thank you!**

His footsteps are sunk into the soft ground, easy to follow. If it were anyone but Micah, I'd think they were too easy to follow. But he's not the smartest tribute in the game. He's proven that to me many, many times.

Each step I take brings me closer to the end. I'm sure that once I win, my book will be closed. They can move onto the next tribute, or the next rebellion. Then I can go home, with all my winnings, and live a somewhat normal life. It sounds so nice, so perfect. Two kills to go. That's the cost of my future.

If I'm lucky I'll find twelve on my way to Micah. But I am rarely ever lucky. That much is clear to anyone who's been watching the games. I think I may have been the only one visited by their nightmares today. No screams came from the forest, and I know Micah would have screamed from a visitation like that.

The tracks are everywhere. I hike for miles, past even the range I thought Micah could have travelled in that space of time. A few times, I find spots where he circled back to a point, then continued on into the forest. For all I know, he could be hiding in the bushes around me. I shiver at the thought. It's not like he's particularly good at ambushes, but I've had a growing sense of paranoia since I entered the arena.

I'm nearing what must be the edge of the arena when I find it. It's partially buried in mud, pushed down by someone's footstep. A bright red ribbon, the kid used to tie hair back. So now I know. Micah wouldn't have made it this far into the arena. I haven't been following his footsteps. At some point, I choose the wrong set of prints and followed the girl into the forest.

And she's close. I can hear it now, the snapping of twigs ahead of me. I've been so quiet she didn't hear me, but she's not taking the same precautions. Like Micah did, the girl from twelve circles back occasionally, possibly trying to confuse me. She's headed here right now.

I could hide behind a bush and ambush her. But that wouldn't be any fun. No, I want to play with her a bit before she dies. She didn't suffer through what I just did. So I find a nice, big rock and sit on it, to wait for her arrival.

I'm leaning with my back against a tree, popping some berries into my mouth when she arrives. Twelve isn't looking at me at first, she's watching her back. For me. Funny.

"Whatcha lookin' for?" I ask her as I closely examine a ripe berry that I hold between my thumb and forefinger. She starts at the sound of my voice, and whips out a small knife. This is cute, really. In response, I pull the machete from my backpack and start to clean it on my shirt.

She doesn't do anything. Frozen. I take the opportunity to examine her. Really nothing special. All the other times I've seen her she was covered in coal dust, or had a black veil over her face. Like she was a mourner at a funeral. Well, she's on the fast track to her own funeral now. There are smears of blood all over her face. Wonder if any of it's from the boy from five.

"You know, before I kill you, I had one little question," I say as I stand up and stretch. She gives me a wary glance but doesn't say a thing. "Oh, you know. How did you kill the boy from five?" Her lips part slightly. Confusion.

"I didn't know anyone knew about that," she says. "Why do you care?" Like I want to have a nice little conversation right now. I roll my eyes.

"Two things darling," I snarl. "One: everyone watching at home and in the Capitol knows you killed him. Cameras everywhere. Two: I just want to know. Personal reasons. Got it?"

"Don't call me darling," she says, equally vicious. "My name is Serita. And I really don't want to tell you, got it? Personal reasons." She mocks me. I expected as much from her. Everyone knows that the kids from district twelve run short on manners.

"Well, the longer your story is, the longer you get to live, okay?" I smile, probably looking like a bit of a psychopath. "And I'm Kai, pleased to make your acquaintance." The cherry on top. I'm actually having fun now. Twelve thinks it over for a few minutes. After I start to clean my machete again, she nods.

"Fine. So it was the fifth day. I think." She takes in a deep breath. "Five and I had teamed up. But he was getting unhinged. Talking to himself in his sleep. He even licked a tree once. I didn't know what to do with him. There was no point in keeping him as an ally.

"So I attacked him that day. I've never killed anyone before. He was asleep under a bush, mumbling to himself. I just slit his throat. At least I meant to. But he screamed just as I was going in. I panicked and stabbed him all over the place. Happy?" I shrug.

"Oh, doesn't matter either way. That story was pretty short. Sure you're finished?" I laugh. It's not like she has any say, and she know it.

"Whole story, no lies," she says, raising her little knife. "Sure you know how to use that thing?" She gestures to my machete and smirks.

"Of course I do," I say. "Why would I carry it around if I didn't?" To display my skills, I throw the knife into the air and catch it. Twelve bursts out laughing.

"Incredible," she says between snorts of laughter. "I'm sorry I ever doubted your impressive skills. Would you like to see what I can do with my knife? Oh wait." She stops and thinks for a moment. "You'll be dead soon, so it's a moot point, isn't it?"

"Don't be so sure of yourself, Seulita," I scoff. "I've killed ten people already. Any bye the end of the day, that number will be up to twelve." Her eyes narrow and she lifts her knife threateningly.

"It's _Serita_." She barks. "But you won't need to remember it. Dead people have pretty bad memories, or so I hear." Oh, how witty. This girl could have a stand-up comedy show. With her charm, she could easily replace Saamir Flickerman!

"Okay Conchita." I say. "Show me what you can do. I'm sure everyone at home would love to see this." She yowls like a cat when I get her name wrong again. Then she throws her knife, and misses me by a hair. Literally. I pull away from the tree that the knife stuck into, and feel a sharp tug at my scalp. The knife pinned a strand of hair to the tree.

Serita looks shocked, frightened, but before she takes off into the forest, I stop her with my machete. I'm not actually that skilled with it. It's much harder to throw than I anticipated, and instead of hitting her back, the blade sinks into her upper thigh. She falls to the ground as blood begins to pour from the wound.

"Now that I've got your attention," I begin, acting as though this was my plan form the beginning. "I wanted to let you know a few things before I slit_ your_ throat. I hate you, even though I don't really know you. Even if is the Hunger Games, and only one person can win, you _never_ kill an ally. Part ways when you have to. Never kill them.

"See, there's nothing I hate more. I got revenge for Lehma, and once I'm done with you, I'm going to avenge Scarlett. I guess by killing you, I'm avenging the boy from five. You should have left him there, let another tribute kill him." I crouch down next to her. Serita's trying to get up, but her harmed leg keeps failing on her.

"Can't you at least try and die with dignity?" I hiss. "You're making this too easy. It's no fun at all." My hand flicks out and I grab her by the hair. She screams out in pain. I tug at her hair, ripping chunks out. Derick used to pull my hair, but not this much. It's pleasing to see her squirm. "Would you like to say anything to the folks at home?" I ask in my most charming voice.

"Shut up," she gasps. A whimper escapes from her lips when I pull the machete out of her leg. "You're a monster. I hope you win so you can see how much everyone hates you." Enraged, I press the blade against her neck, just enough for a small trickle of blood to escape.

"You don't know anything." I growl. "I think people could understand. Only one person can live. And it's not going to be you." In one quick stroke, I pull the blade across her pale throat. The light fades from her eyes slowly. They're locked on mine.

I'm gone before the cannon blasts. Now Micah knows it's down to just me and him. He'll be running. But I'll find him. And it will be the most satisfying moment of my life when his cannon blasts, letting the world know that I am the victor, and the cowardly child has died.

Well, that makes it sound less heroic than it will be. But I know that there is at least one person in the world that will be happy for me. Who will see it my way. And that's all I need.

Actually, I don't know how the Capitol will react to me. If they're as detached as I always suspected they were, they'll see me as a television star. Like none of this was really real. Maybe I can still make a life for myself in the Capitol. After all, I'm just doing what they wanted. Who cares if the kids I killed had a great future ahead of them? We're all expendable anyways.

I take a leisurely stroll on my hint for Micah. I'm taking the exact root left from all the footprints. If I don't find Micah, the Gamemakers will push us together. Now I'll have time to plan his death in full. There's a number of ways I could do it with my impressive arsenal of weapons.

Slitting his throat seems too…practical. Plus, I want to put on a nice show for the Capitol, and I'm fast becoming known for slitting throats. At least, I think I am. Throwing a knife could have the desired effect, but the chances of missing are too high. A memory of the training center flashes into my head and I laugh out loud, like a crazy person, in the middle of the forest. The first time that I threw a knife, and missed completely. But the Gamemakers thought it was pretty impressive that I got the head of another target. Too bad there's only one target left.

I begin to whistle as I wander through the woods. It's a nice, hot day. The sun's rays are drying the muddy ground, making it much less treacherous for a hunter like me. Still as dangerous for the hunted though. Perfect.

Home is just one kill away. One death left before I can sleep in my bed again, before I can lie on the beach again. Excitement bubbles up inside me as I imagine family outings. Even the prospect of working at the hotel again cheers me up. But, no, I won't need to work once I'm free of the arena. I'll be rich. I could buy the hotel!

Maybe I'll see Georgianna again. It's exciting and terrifying at the same time. There's something terribly wrong with that woman. So obsessed with her looks and superficial things. She's probably get her…everything done right now. Hair, nails, face, you name it, and she's probably getting it perfected.

So close to the end. I can taste freedom on the lift wind that tickles my nose. All that stands in my way is a thin, angry little boy. Easy enough. I think.

Finally I find the point where the paths crossed each other, and this time I take the one that I am one hundred percent sure was Micah. The footsteps are lighter, more hurried. Running as far away from me as he could. How sweet. He thought he could avoid me forever. Even if he could the Gamemakers would bring him back into my waiting arms.

It's as good a time as any to take a break. Killing people and plotting your enemy's death can take a lot out of a person. After finding a nice, clear spring, I lie down on the soft ground. A hint of the clear blue sky is visible through the foliage. Light filters down green through the leaves. Honestly, I've never felt safer in my life. I'm more likely to be killed by Khalia at home than I am to be killed by Micah. Still I don't dare sleep. Even a stupid child like Micah can get lucky sometimes.

Instead, I start to clean my weapons. The machete got a fair amount of blood on the blade, and I'm not even sure if that was all from Serita. Using the edge of my shirt, I buff the blade. My shirt's gotten pretty bloody too, and none of it is mine. At least I don't think so. I haven't had much time to think about my own injuries.

As the Gamemakers haven't driven us together by the time I'm done cleaning the weapons, I try to clean myself us a bit. The water that washes away from my face and into the stream is dirty, with streaks of red interspersed throughout. I can feel some tender spots on my face from all my recent battles, but not enough to justify all that blood. Maybe it's all from the Justice Building and its gruesome walls. I hope so. That way I didn't know the name of the person or thing it came from.

My hair, even chopped short by Lehma, is a mess. It's composed mainly of knots the size of my fist. I pull the clumps with my fingers, trying to separate it into manageable chunks, but to no avail. However, I have full faith in my prep team. They can fix it. I want to look beautiful for the cameras.

The fire begins around four. I've been wasting my time trying to get my hair in order, and cleaning off my clothes. At first I don't even notice the absence of bird song. I don't notice the crackle of the flames, or the hiss as wood burns. It's only when a deer darts past me that I look around.

Above me, the sky has lost its beautiful blue color. Grey smoke drifts lazily past, carried away by the wind. I push myself off the ground calmly and brush the dirt from my pants. Game time.

There's no point in bringing all my weapons. After a few seconds of careful consideration, I select just one, and throw the rest behind me, into the flames. They're getting close now, but I'm not worried. There wouldn't be much sport in me dying in the flames. There's still a showdown on the agenda.

I run in front of the inferno, treating it like my cortege. When I arrive in the city, I will not be scared girl running from certain to death. I will arrive like an angel of death, and take his life easily. He will run into the city a scared little boy, and die that way.

Before I reach the city, I slow my pace. Like I'm in control of everything. Fearless. The flames, which had licked at my heels only moments before, stop at some invisible barrier that rings the city. Maybe this final showdown was planned since the beginning of the games. Who really cared who got to this point? The effect of flames climbing at the sky behind the victor would be so memorable it's nearly laughable. I mean, I can see it in my mind now, and it hasn't even happened yet!

The only drawback to the situation is that Micah has so many places to hide here. There are dozens of buildings in the city. He could be in the Justice building, or the house where Lehma and I stayed. Well, I've waited this long. Searching for him for even an hour isn't that bad.

I start with the Justice Building. It seems most logical for him to go there. The building is empty though. I search every room, every hiding place that I can find. Absolutely nothing. When I go back outside, I begin to call for him.

"Micah!" I shout to the sky. "Oh little Micah! Come out and play! It's such a nice day for it!" Hopefully I can anger him into coming out from hiding. I really am too lazy to search at this point.

Of course he doesn't come out. I move on to the next building, even searching the second floor, which is mostly rubble. Knowing him, he'd be scared to go into one of the buildings which have been mostly demolished.

"Where are you Micah?" I scream as I wander the streets of the ghost town. "What's the point of running little boy? You'll die anyway!" In response, the fire inches further into the city, taking a few of the outlying buildings with it. I listen closely for the cannon, but no sound comes except for the roaring flames.

So he's still in here, somewhere. At least I won't have to search those buildings. I'm about to enter the hat shop on the street adjacent to the Justice Building when I see him. He steps from a fancy house into the city square. Bloodied, bruised, emaciated. He's pitiful. Too easy to kill. I turn to face him, and raise my bow.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Hello my lovelies I hope you're liking the story so far. Just so you know, I've had parts of this chapter written since I began Kai's story! There's still so much more for her to come, so keep reading and reviewing! Love you aaaall!

Micah doesn't even flinch. He glances at the bow, perhaps recognizing the scene. For I've been planning on recreating Scarlett's death so that the last moments of his life are as terrible as I could make them. Psychological terror is so much worse than physical pain.

It's infuriating how calm he is. I want him dead, but my hand does not let the arrows fly. Why isn't he breaking down like he usually does? Is he just too stupid to realize what I'm pointing out with my method of execution? That must be it. No other explanation.

He takes a step towards me, using his hand as a visor to shield his eyes from the firelight. To see me better. "Oh," he says. There's a strange tone to his voice…relief? "It's just you. Not that…thing." He shudders, and for a moment I'm confused. But I quickly realize what he's saying. He was visited by Capitol mutt tonight, too. Who did the mutt look like? Not that I really care.

It's a strange face-off between me and the boy. I could kill him so easily. He's so insignificant. All I need to do is let the arrow go, and watch it fly into his heart. Watch the blood splatter on the ground and hear his cannon blast. Then I can board a hovercraft and go to the Capitol. Then go home.

But my hand will not relax. My brain screams at it to just let go. To end it. Then Micah begins to speak, drowning out my mind's wise words.

"You know Kai, I've had a lot of time to think since we last met," Micah begins. "And I don't hold myself responsible for what happened to Scarlett. She made the decision to go on her own. I know you never cared about her. If it had come down to the two of you, you would have lopped of her head or whatever with no hesitation. " He takes a deep breath before stepping towards me again and continuing.

"You always said Derick was such a terrible person, even before the games started. But guess what? You're the one who's really screwed up. At least I've kept my morals. I never killed anyone who saved my life. " It's a direct hit. To my heart. No, I didn't kill Lehma, and I don't know who he's thinking of, but I feel directly responsible for Lehma's death. "So go ahead, kill me." He flings his arms out, leaving the path to his heart clear. "The life you'll have after this is over will be just grand. I can guarantee it.

"But every night, you'll see my face in your nightmares. You'll see Derick, you'll see the boy from eleven and the girl from three. You'll see everyone you killed. And when you wake up, no one will be there to comfort you. All of Panem's seen what you've done." He says his last words with a remarkable sense of finality. "And I hope you burn for it."

Now's the moment. The moment that the arrow should fly and pierce his lying heart. But he's right. I've become a monster. He's the one who should win. Who will want me when I arrive home? They all loved Derick, and I killed him. Even my own mother wanted Derick for a child. He seemed like such a nice boy. Every adult loved him. And I killed him. Who wouldn't think I'm a monster now that I've killed eleven people? Twelve, if my stupid hand would just let go of the arrow.

Micah looks almost amused as he watches the conflict play out on my face. "Come on, just do it," he pleads. "Everyone knew I couldn't win this. And may I just be the first to say, congratulations on being the world's most celebrated serial killer." He bows down low, like I was a queen. Once again rage fills me. Terrible, beautiful, blind rage.

As he stands up straight again, I finally let the arrow go. For once, the odds are in my favor. The weapon finds its mark, flies straight into his weak little chest, and ends the beating of his heart. It takes just a few seconds for him to fall to the ground, for the cannon to blast. Then I am left, the victor of the first annual Hunger Games.

I must look like some fierce warrior right now, with my slightly dirty face, torn clothing, and with the flames burning hot and red behind me. Inside, though, I feel like what I really am. A monster. Someone who's only alive because they're terrible. Regret burns deep inside of me.

Right now, the cameras are probably tight on my face, recording my reaction. I try to look happy, to look proud. To look like a victor. But really, I've never been more terrified in my life. My future seems so bleak now.

Eliseo Clemens voice begins to speak, echoing all over the arena. "Ladies and gentleman!" He shouts, hurting my ears. I resist the impulse to clap my hands over my ears. "May I present the victor of the first annual Hunger Games, Kailaini Moana!" I lift my arms into the air like a victor should, dropping the bow to the ground. I've done it. I survived.

The Gamemakers give the crowd to see me in all my glory before the ladder to the hovercraft appears overhead. I scramble up it gratefully, taking one last look at the arena. The fire has disappeared mysteriously, leaving the city covered in strange shadows. This is the place I will see in every one of my nightmares from here on out. From up on the ladder, I can see through the hole in the roof of the Justice Building. I can see part of Derick's masterpiece. I soak it in, for it is the last piece of humanity in the world.

The second that I am safely on the hovercraft, a woman in a white coat comes over, carrying a sinister looking syringe. She sinks it into my arm, and I happily drift off into oblivion, hoping that reality never troubles me again.

Of course it does. I wake up some time later in my room at the training center. I didn't realize how much I hurt when I was in the arena, but now that I'm all fixed up, the absence of the pain is sweet relief. Actually, I feel better than I ever have.

Someone changed my clothes when they patched me up. I'm wearing a clean, soft, white shift. I climb out of the bed and go to my window. A soft light is either just beginning to come out, or the sun is sinking beneath the horizon. Judging by the lack of activity in the streets, it's early morning. At least I have a clue about something. There's no telling how many days I've been asleep, but I'm not stiff, so it can't have been that long.

I press my face against the cold glass and feel it leech the heat away from my body. Cold seems good right now. Warmth has some sort of tie to remembering and that's the last thing I want to do. I never want to remember. Anything. Ever.

The great thing about whatever they gave me was that it staved off the nightmares. I'm going to have to find out what it's called and get some before I leave the Capitol. Maybe I don't need to leave the Capitol though. They surely love me here.

As I ruminate on my future, the door opens just a crack. Someone peers around the edge and spots me at the window. Leonel practically flings himself across the room and gathers me up in his arms.

"You did it!" He says into my hair. "I knew you could." He stops, as though expecting me to say something to him, maybe even joke around. By I just stand there unmoving, hands still pressed against the cold glass. "Kai?" he says, gently shaking me into consciousness. My eyes find his and a tear escapes from the corner of my eye.

"What day is it?" I ask him. He tells me it's been five days since I left the arena. Five whole days. Meaning it's been exactly three weeks now since I left home on the train. Then why does it feel like five lifetimes? Like I've been fighting for my life since I was born? I guess that in a way, I was.

Leonel hugs me tightly, letting me take as much time as I need to get better. I'm just glad that there's still one person on earth who cares for me. If I had my way, I'd never see another human being again.

"So what's on the agenda for today?" I say softly. My breath fogs up the window, so I use the sleeve of my shift to buff it clean.

"The prep team is going to get you ready for your presentation," Leonel explains as he lets go of me. "The president just came up with the idea. So that everyone in Panem can see you again." This translates to: Rivera wants to make sure the Hunger Games are kept alive as much as possible.

"This isn't over yet, is it?" I ask, turning and burying my head in his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me again, comforting me. It's cynical, but I can't help but think that nothing will ever comfort me again.

"It is for now," He says. For now. It's not a guarantee. Far from it actually. "In a few months, the President would like for you to visit all of the districts. As part of what they're calling 'the victory tour.'"

"Isn't that rubbing it in their faces?" I whisper. "I don't want to go there. It's like saying, 'hey, this girl killed your children, and now we're going to make you cheer for her.'" I break away from him and flop onto my bed, facedown. He doesn't leave the window when he responds.

"I think that's the point." We let the words sit in the air for a few minutes. Of course. The Capitol is cruel and manipulative. One of the main reasons the rebellion was so intense. It wasn't just a whim of the people. It was a necessity.

"Well, I have to go let everyone know that you're awake," he says, then leaves me to my thoughts. Who else is there but Leonel who would want to see me? I'm surprised they let me live. In district four, what I did would be considered the most atrocious of crimes. But then I remember that this is the Hunger Games, and rules don't seem to apply here.

It only takes a minute for the prep team and Antone to arrive. One of the triplets jump onto my bed next to me while the others just jump up and down in excitement. I lift my head slightly and look around at them. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Whaaat?" The prep closest to me asks. He has bright pink hair. Unless I have a new set of triplets, they've all dyed their hair.

"Which of you is which?" I ask, trying to look for some feature other than their hair that could discern one from another. Nothing.

"Oh gosh, she means the hair!" Giggles the one with golden hair. The last one hair black hair, with blue tips. "Kai, we dye it all the time. You're gonna have to get used to it. And I'm Harlan. Blue hair is Horatio-"

"And I'm Hubert!" pipes up the one with pink hair as he bounces up and down on my bed. "Is this a water bed? I have wanted one for soooo long!" I nod, then try and reach the safety of the pillows at the head of the bed. In no way I am going to allow myself to be 'prepped' for another interview or whatever.

"Oh no you don't!" Antone shrieks, grabbing my ankles and pulling me towards him. "I created the world's most beautiful dress just for you. It is _not _going to waste." He snaps his fingers once. "Boys, get her ready!" Then he spins out of the room in a cloud of glitter and sparkles. I bet he designed his own jacket today.

I give in to their begging and let them get me ready for tonight's disaster. Apparently I've become a bit unkempt since our last meeting. Murder can do that to a person, I suppose. One of them frets over my newly shorn hair, but finally breaks down and cuts it more fashionably into an A-line bob. I actually like this new look.

The mix of perfumes and nail polish fumes nearly chokes me to death. I spend most of my prep period gagging. Wouldn't it be just so ironic if I died from beautification after surviving the arena? I wonder how the Capitol would spin that.

It's nearing lunch when they finally let me free. I've been letting them poke and prod me for over six hours by that time, and practically run from the room. A huge lunch is spread out for us to all share, but Leonel stops me from eating as much as I want to. Apparently, due to how little I ate in the arena, stuffing myself now would only result in a very sick stomach later.

I pout around for a little while, clutching a piece of bread in my hands, but it's not like I really have something to complain about. I'd rather not get sick in front of all of Panem today. I did that enough in the arena. Thinking of those times gets me in an even worse mood, so by the end of lunch I've stormed off to my room again.

When Leonel tries to coerce me into coming out with promises of delectable foods, I refuse point-blank. Even if that's what got me in here in the first place, I want to be stubborn. Yes, I'm acting like a child, but once I leave here, I'll never have the chance again.

I can hear a heated conversation going on in the hallway. Leonel is telling Antone to let me mope around if I want to; I've just gone through the most horrifying thing he can imagine. I guess Antone wins though, because he barges in a moment later with a massive dress bag draped over his arm.

Oh no. I forgot about this part. If I thought throwing up in front of everyone would be the most humiliating thing possible, I was wrong. Antone's designs frighten me. He makes me close my eyes before he'll unzip the bag. I refuse for a few minutes, trying to put it off, but I can't do that forever. I hear the zipper sliding down slowly, but I wait for Antone's command before I open my eyes.

He's really outdone himself this time. I mean it. He's abandoned the mermaid look for a much more atrocious design. Tonight, I will be a rainbow in a dress made entirely of tulle and ruffles. A red veil will be draped over my head, hopefully obscuring the look of terror that will grace my visage. The bodice is made of a red material too, and so is the first layer of tulle ruffles. Then the ruffles go in descending order from orange to purple.

The shoes are simple and white, since they won't be seen. But the make-up is an actual masterpiece. Antone works on my face for a full hour, swirling the most beautiful jewel tones onto my eyelids, and carefully painting my lips. The result is a wonderful mess of color, lighting up my whole face, making it look as though I'm not actually the most depressed person in Panem. Even my lips are a candy-coated rainbow.

"Wow," I manage to utter as I gaze at myself in a full length mirror. "This is…really something Antone." I finish lamely. There's really nothing else I can say. I don't think it would be as bad without the veil or ruffles, but I have no say in the matter.

"Isn't it just?' Antone exclaims, more gleefully than I've ever heard him before. "You know, I started working on this the day you left? I just knew you would win!" Aw. I'm really touched. I didn't know there was anything inside Antone's head but glitter and butterflies.

"Did you really?" I say, spinning around in my gown. Maybe I can forgive him for this mess. Leonel walks into the room then, and looks at me a bit concernedly. He composes himself before Antone notices anything, though.

"Kai, would you like to go over a few sample questions before the interview?" He asks, shuffling a stack of cards in his hands. I hadn't even thought of questions.

"I guess," I say warily, and he leads me to the couches. "I was hoping they were just going to parade me around on stage, show me off." I shrug as I try to sit down without crushing my skirt. It's impossible. I sit heavily, feeling the tulle crumple beneath me. It's pretty satisfying actually.

"No, no." Leonel shakes his head, and then strokes his mustache tattoo. "The people want to know their victor, and how she felt at her moment of triumph. Okay. First question- What was your first reaction when you saw the arena?"

I know the answer to this one. I can't say that I figured out that it wasn't the real thirteen. The citizens still probably think that it was real. "I was shocked," I say carefully, as though this were the real thing. "I uh, never expected it. But I think I dealt well with it." Leonel gives me the thumbs up. Okay. That question wasn't so hard. But there are so many more questions they could ask me. And all of them are worse.

"What were you thinking when Scarlett died?" He asks next. Now I don't know what to say. Partly because I honestly don't know what was going through my head right then. So I answer honestly.

"I have no clue," I say, looking at my hands. I hadn't noticed that my nails were painted rainbow, too. "I uh, don't know. We had just gotten into the arena. Well, it was after my first night. It was just all a product of fear. Panic, I guess." I look up to Leonel.

"That's good enough," he nods. "Just don't look down. You don't want to look scared up there, do you?"

"But I am scared," I respond, confused. I'm about to argue with him when Antone and the preps poke their heads into the room.

"Come on guys, it's time to head down!" Hubert says. They're all practically bursting with excitement. I probably would be too if I weren't so ashamed of myself, and frightened of how the crowd will treat me.

We ride the elevator all jammed in together. Derick's absence is strangely tangible in here. The short ride down to the lobby takes too long in that metal box, and I'm the first out. A man in a dark suit waits for me by the doors, and gets us safely loaded into a long, black car.

The streets are filled with the thousands of Capitol citizens heading out to see my interview. A few surmise that I'm in the car, and point at it. One man even runs at the car, but the driver skillfully maneuvers around him. All too soon, we're at the stage. The whole team is going to be presented tonight, even the prep team. I wonder where Florence went. I guess she's not very important because her tribute died. As if it was her fault.

We line up on the stairs, preps first, followed by Antone, and then Leonel. I'm last, of course. We can hear Saamir Flickerman greeting the crowd, telling a few jokes. They don't sound very angry out there. Saamir introduces the preps and Antone. Right before his name is called, Leonel gives me a final hug.

I feel as if I'm going to die when I'm introduced to the crowd. My feet move themselves mechanically onto the stage, and into the blinding white lights.


End file.
